


Hiraeth

by potatopatch



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BeruEre, Hate to Love, I shit you not I've seen paint dry faster, M/M, Slow Burn, Tags will be updated as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 02:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 42,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7958677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatopatch/pseuds/potatopatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you asked Bertholdt if any severe repercussions came from going along with Reiner’s plans, before he would have shrugged and said ‘maybe’. Ask him the same question now, his face would darken and without any other explanation, would utter just one name: Eren.</p><p>---</p><p>A character study and re-write of the SNK universe from Bertholdt's side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiraeth is an overly ambitious project I started in 2013, back when I first saw this pairing and went 'haha, how would that even work??'. Long story short, it's been three years and I'm still suffering. But with the second season coming up in 2017, I wanted to push myself to finish this before it arrives.
> 
> I'll be straight up. I'm a slow writer and busy with school/work, so updates will likely be incredibly slow. Like, once every 2-3 months (if I'm even that lucky) slow. But I can promise each chapter will be about the same length as this one, given I have 2-3 more 'acts' before I finish this story, most which are already planned out and half of which is already written. 
> 
> Not only that, but some stuff will also probably change. I'll give updates if this is the case.
> 
> Kids are also aged up a bit in this au so they'll be about 15-16 in earlier chapters an 18-19 in the current universe. Not only that but I wrote this back when I think chapter 70 and on were still coming out so canon probably won't match up with what I've got written. Lots of headcanons for Bert really.
> 
> There's probably more stuff that I'll add later.

If you asked Bertholdt if he trusted Reiner with his life, he would respond, albeit quietly, ‘more than anyone’.

If you asked him if Reiner ever had any terrible ideas, he would laugh, albeit hysterically and say ‘more than you can imagine’.

Bertholdt isn’t laughing right now.

Right now, he’s trying to find the words to convey how shitty he thinks Reiner’s idea is.

It takes Reiner one glance to pick up on the unsaid protest, and when he speaks, his tone easily falls into one that’s calm but authoritative. He explains the situation; strings together an elaborate speech, filled with flowery words that essentially boiled down to one notion: ‘desperate circumstances required desperate action’.

It’s the usual excuse, Bertholdt knows. Almost anything is justifiable, so long as you dress it pretty and say it’s in the name of survival.

Didn’t stop him from finding the plan complete crap but he digressed.

No matter how you looked at it, words have never been his forte, arguments even less so. And Bertholdt has long accepted this was how their discussions usually concluded.

“The decision is final.”

If you asked Bertholdt if any severe repercussions came from going along with Reiner’s plans, before he would have shrugged and said ‘maybe’. Ask him the same question now, his face would darken and without any other explanation, would utter just one name: Eren.

 

////////////////////////

 

They’ve adapted quite well, given their circumstances.

Or maybe it was because of their circumstances that demand adaptability. He couldn’t really say; Bertholdt didn’t have much experience with post disasters. What little he _did know_ , was that it made breaking and entering that much easier.

Even a month after the fall of Wall Maria, security was severely lacking.

Stay in the shadows, dodge an occasional guard, and in less than fifteen minutes, they’re stuffing their knapsacks with every scrap of food they can get their hands on.

All in all, entering the church is laughably easy.

The pantry is well stocked and the sight alone makes his empty stomach ache. Bertholdt can’t remember the last time he’s seen so much food in one location, and it fills him with an odd mixture of awe and revulsion.

Followers of the Wall Cult often sneered at suggestions of charity, opting instead to spew preaches of morality, the gift of the wall and other horse shit, as though devoting oneself to some unknown god would solve starvation. It’s disgusting, and makes Bertholdt reconsider any previous misgivings he had towards this idea; if only because their actions would serve as some passive pay back.

Though he supposes stealing food from a bunch of gluttons, pales in comparison for being the cause of said famine…

But like most days, Bertholdt tries not to think too hard about that.

“Make sure to grab anything that will last for a while,” Reiner reminds. “There’s only so much we can carry between the two of us.”

Bertholdt secures a small collection of dried meat.

“Right.”

“If you see anything worth trading, make sure to grab that too.”

“Okay.”

Their conversations are limited, but Bertholdt considers this a stepping stone given how things were first like when they infiltrated the city.

Destroying the wall… was far simpler than their training led them to believe.

Even now, Bertholdt can only remember vague sensations from that day. The sharp pain after he bit his hand. The scalding heat. _Growth_. Memories that felt like somebody else’s but knew, for a fact, were his.

Bertholdt has only been able to maintain that complete form three times out of his life, his recent transformation being the fourth. And while each accomplishment always filled him with pride, none of his experiences could compare to what he felt at that exact moment.

Everything was so small.

All their lives could have been snuffed so easily.

And as he studied the endless specks below, Bertholdt wondered, after years of safety and comfort, if this was the first time the people within the wall truly understood fear.

The prospect seemed so satisfying. At least at the time.

Two months later, Bertholdt can barely recall the last time he slept well, dreams plagued by smoke choking his lungs, the stench of rotting corpses, large bloodied teeth, _gaunt faces and Reiner_ —

Well, he never wanted to see Reiner shut down like that ever again.

“Hey Bert, make sure to grab some spices off the shelf over there. If we sell it, maybe we’ll actually be able to buy groceries instead of stealing them.”

Bertholdt was doubtful. Prices of food have escalated these last few months, meaning potential customers would likely be near and few.

It was to be expected. Most people were more concern with filling their stomachs than whether or not what they’re consuming is actually palatable. Not only that, but the rare few who could afford that luxury were often more difficult to get access to.

Bertholdt doesn’t divulge in any of this. Instead, he only hums thoughtfully.

“I don’t know. The vendors seemed pretty upset, last I remembered. I don’t think they’re eager to see our faces any time soon.”

Reiner sighs. “Yeah… I guess you’re right. Wishful thinking. Still, a couple jars go a long way.”

Bertholdt only shrugs.

He approaches the aforementioned shelf, hand hovering over a sizable container, only to startle back at the sound of a muffled crash.

Reiner shoots to his feet, bag already in hand, before his panicked features morph into confusion. He and Bertholdt exchange a glance. Unmistakably the source of the noise came from behind the tall shelf.

“Did--?” Bertholdt’s mouth snaps shut, catching the shift in Reiner’s expression. It’s one he knows all too well, and it unnerves him to see it now, of all times.

“We need to leave,” he says. Because he has to try.

Instead, Reiner places his bag behind a couple of crates, tactfully hidden unless one knew where to look.

“You heard that too, right?”

“Yes. Which is why we should go. Now.”

Reiner’s expression darkens. “You don’t think these freak-shows actually have someone trapped here?”

Bertholdt swallows.

“That not our problem.”

The words expectantly taste bitter in his mouth.

And while the incredulous look Reiner shoots him is familiar, the words that follow aren’t.

“You’re joking right?”

Bertholdt’s answering silence conveys his response and his eyes drop. In his peripheral vision, he sees Reiner’s back straighten, expression tightening.

“You’ve seen these people. I doubt whatever reason they’ve got someone locked up is holy.”

“So… what? We free them? What are we going to say when they ask why we’re here?”

Bertholdt hates how petulant he sounds. It’s not like he _wants_ this. To turn a blind eye to someone in need. But the idea Reiner is proposing is so idiotic and unnecessarily risky. They had absolutely nothing to gain by trying to play good Samaritans, and he, of all people, should know that their own survival comes first

“I doubt they would really care. You know, considering we’d be rescuing them and all?”

“That’s not—“

Bertholdt struggles for a comeback. Not because he believed the argument he presented was unsound, but because he knew Reiner was too much of a stupid prat to reason with, once he set his mind to something.

“We’re trying to keep a low profile,” he finally pleads, though the delivery is half-hearted, at best. Bertholdt should have known better than try to delay an argument he was doomed to lose.

And Reiner knew it too. He approaches the tall spice shelf.

“C’mon Bert. Give me a hand with this.”

Bertholdt releases a long sigh.

He joins Reiner next to the cabinet and after two hard shoves, they manhandle it off to the side. Expectantly, there’s a door hidden behind it. The discovery doesn’t make him feel any less displeased.

 

////////////////////////

 

The passage leads down a long staircase to a door, presumably the room where the prisoner is being held. It’s a linear trek, suggesting the area only meant to serve as a single prison and little else. During their march down, the commotion beyond the door was continuous, like battering ram trying to break down a wall. But as they draw closer, all becomes quiet and that’s enough to raise some red flags.

“Wait.”

Reiner’s hand pauses above the large plank of wood barricading the door. A quick glance at Bertholdt communicates his warning, and Reiner leans his face close to the surface, instead.

He gives two steady knocks.

“Hey, are you still in there?”

No answer.

“Listen, we’re going to get you out of there. So just stay calm and don’t attack us or whatever, alright?” Reiner says, keeping his voice firm but gentle.

Still no response. But that doesn’t deter Reiner, hands approaching the plank again before Bertholdt can get a word out.

The moment it’s removed, all hell breaks loose.

The door flings open, barely taking Bertholdt’s nose along with it, and snaps into the adjacent wall. It strikes the stone with a crash, a deafening crack, a sound which echoes not only throughout the entire corridor but most likely the whole _god damn building_. And if by some unlikely miracle that escaped anyone’s notice, the screeching teen flinging himself on to Reiner, most likely wouldn’t.

Bertholdt stares gobsmacked as Reiner struggles against the flailing mass, yelping whenever the kid manages a lucky hit in some tender area. There’s no finesse; the kid’s fighting with more teeth than punches, behavior dimly reminding Bertholdt of a cornered animal.

He doesn’t move to help until Reiner shouts his name. Breaking from his stupor, he rushes over to wrap two arms around the kid’s stomach and _heaves_. And while this is great for Reiner, who’s now away from the punches and scratches, this causes the kid to direct his attacks towards _him_.

Bertholdt can feel nails break skin. In retrospect, he should have just released his captive, shove him into a nearby wall, but panic causes Bertholdt to stupidly tighten his hold, instead. The kid is practically foaming, as though _they_ were a danger to him, flinging this way and that, in order to free himself.

If this kid didn’t get to it first, Bertholdt was going to kill Reiner.

“Stop! Just stop!” Reiner shouts, grabbing the kid’s wrists, halting his struggles, if only slightly. “We’re not going to hurt you!”

“BULLSHIT!” The first coherent word from the kid is spat directly a Reiner’s face. Dribbles of saliva slip down the kid’s chin from the force of the word, and some splatters onto Reiner. Bertholdt credits him for not flinching away.

“No it isn’t! Look at me! Look at my friend! Do we really look like we’re part of the wall cult?”

Miraculously, the kid pauses to examine Reiner’s attire and then Bertholdt’s. Slow registration dawns on his face and the grip he has on Bertholdt’s arms loosens. Bertholdt hisses as he feels the tip of each fingernail peel from his skin, one by one. He was more than certain that he was bleeding.

“There. See? Nothing to freak out over,” Reiner jokes weakly, before drawing in a slow breath. “I’m Reiner. This is Bertholdt—“

Bertholdt’s head snaps up. Revealing their identities was not part of the plan, and a frenzied laugh almost slips at the thought. Plan… what plan? Any semblance of a ‘plan’ was tossed out the moment they decided to help this kid.

“We…” Reiner hesitates, “we were looking to snitch some food when we heard you.”

Bertholdt can’t see the kid’s face but speculates he might be in shock, if the sudden slump was any indication.

Reiner softens his expression.

“I know this whole thing seems crazy but I promise you’re in safe hands now.”

Of course what directly follows those words was a collection of footsteps stomping into the kitchen above them.

“Shit!” The kid hisses.

He begins to struggle again and Bertholdt promptly relinquishes his hold. He rather kept his arms intact, thanks.

Bertholdt and Reiner exchange glances.

“Reiner—“

“Listen, I have a plan. We’re going to use this room to trap them,” Reiner turns to the kid standing between them. “You’ll play as bait.”

“What?” He squawks.

“Pretend like you just escape. Lead them back here and duck behind the door. Bert and I will handle the rest.”

The kid’s face twists.

“Like _fucking_ hell. Those bastards had me down here for weeks! I’m going to smash their teeth in!”

Despite the tremble in his legs indicating possible fatigue, last ounce of energy wasted on his earlier outburst, Bertholdt feels a chill run down his spine at the teen’s expression. He wonders briefly if there wasn’t some other reason as to why he was isolated down here.

“No offense, but you’re not exactly in the best shape to be knocking heads!” Reiner snaps. The footsteps were increasing in volume. “We don’t have a lot of options right now and unless you have any better ideas, this is the best we got.”

Bertholdt watches as the kid wastes precious seconds, mulling over his options, until finally he clicks his tongue.

“Fine.”

“Good. Now everyone, move!”

They quickly shift into their positions, just as three men arrive.

“HEY!”

“What are you doing out, you brat!”

“Shit!” Eren feigns, ducking back into the cell.

Predictably, the guards follow after and before any of them can react, Reiner swings the plank of wood, initially used to barricade the door, into one of the men’s heads before striking another. They drop like flies. Taking advantage of the last man’s surprise, Bertholdt launches a punch into his throat; the man chokes, grasping his neck, wheezing, and Bertholdt shoves him over.

“Let’s go! NOW!”

Reiner didn’t need to tell him twice.

Bertholdt ducks out while Eren, after taking advantage of the man prone form to throw a few kicks in, follows after. Reiner is the last to leave, slamming the door shut and barricading it once more.

He collapses against the surface, letting out a long, low whistle.

“That went smoothly,” he laughs.

Bertholdt wants to punch him.

Maybe he was being overdramatic, considering their good fortune, but he really wanted to throttle him.

It wasn’t as though Bertholdt hated seeing Reiner happy. Quite the opposite, actually. Before he would have given anything to see him laugh like this; to see Reiner this emotive after months of silence. But Bertholdt would be lying if he didn’t find the current circumstances complete bullshit.

“There’s probably more coming,” he points out. Grits out.

“Right, right,” Reiner says picking up on Bertholdt’s agitation.

He swipes a hand across his forehead before turning to the kid.

“So. We never got your name.”

‘WHY DOES THAT EVEN MATTER?’ Bertholdt nearly screeches.

“Eren,” the kids says simply. His fingers twitch, as though itching for a fight he was cheated out on. “Now what?”

“Now we get the hell out of here.”

 

////////////////////////

 

Through some small stroke of luck, they all escape, if only by the skin of their teeth.

Had they dabbled any longer, a swarm of guards would have been upon them; didn’t help either that towards the end, Eren’s exhaustion caught up with him, causing him to collapse on the stairs, thus forcing Reiner to carry him outside. As a result, one of their bags was lost, along with all the food inside.

Eren fully passes out after they’re some ways from the church. Taking advantage of his silence, Bertholdt suggests ditching him in the nearest ally, which Reiner promptly rejects, stating the cult was probably looking for him.

When Bertholdt speaks, his voice jumps five octaves.

“Looking for _him_? Those people are probably looking for _us_. Or did you forget they saw our faces? Or the fact that they have the military in their pocket— any of this ringing any bells?”

“Right. Because their concussion will totally help them identify us,” Reiner says, adjusting his hold on Eren.

"Two of them,” Bertholdt reminds, “only two of them got knocked out. One was still conscious."

Bertholdt nearly strangles him when he only receives a shrug in return.

And that was how, without Bertholdt’s consent, Eren found residence in their already too cramped apartment.

Throughout the next two weeks, Reiner tends to the teen, going out of his way to create a separate sleeping area (depleting Bertholdt’s already meager corner), helping him regain his strength and generally pampering around like a mother hen.

Bertholdt spends those days agonizing about, well, everything.

Their depleting food supply. Being quarantined to their flat for hours on end. The non-existent progress they were making on their mission. But most of all, Reiner’s completely flippant attitude towards all of this.

It didn’t make sense. Why go through all this trouble for one kid? A complete stranger? Sure, Reiner was a more decent person than Bertholdt ever cared to be, but he wasn’t completely reckless. He was level-headed. Objective. Had been for these last few weeks.

What changed?

Bertholdt swiped a hand across his eyes, feeling another oncoming headache.

All they got out from that trip was another hungry mouth to feed, for a measly amount of food as compensation.

Needless to say, the day Eren announced his planned departure was the first time Bertholdt felt any semblance of relief, since the teen got here.

The space between Reiner’s eyebrows predictably pinches in concern at the declaration.

“You sure? You only just got out of that basement two weeks ago. Maybe you should take some time to rest up some more?” He suggests.

Eren shakes his head, taking another large bite of his bread. His appetite was slowly returning, and he was slowly straying from thin soups to more solid foods. Already his cheeks seemed less gaunt.

“Nah, I’m starting to go crazy lying around. Not that I don’t appreciate all you and Bertholdt have done. It’s just…” he pauses both to swallow and collect his thoughts. “I need to find Mikasa and Armin… they must be really worried…”

Reiner nods sympathetically at the mention of Eren’s friends, who the teen only brought up, a couple days back. No mention of any other family, an observation neither he nor Reiner pressed about. Bertholdt tries to look absorbed in his own piece of bread, in an effort to hide his evident relief. It wasn’t anything personal. And Bertholdt wouldn’t go so far to say he necessarily _hated_ Eren… but given their circumstances, the kid had long overstayed his welcome.

“I understand,” Reiner thumps a fist into his palm. “Alright, we’ll come with you then.”

Bertholdt chokes on his bread.

Eren looks similarly shocked by the announcement.

“What? No! You’ve really don’t have to—“ he starts.

“’Course we have to,” Reiner responds, smiling easily. _Too easily_ , Bertholdt notes. “Have to make sure you get back to your friends, safe and sound.”

“It’s really not a big deal! I can find my way back by myself,” Eren argues.

Bertholdt squints at Reiner.

Contrary to popular belief, Reiner wasn’t the type to make impulsive decisions. He was calculative. Thoughtful. There had to be some underlying motive, Bertholdt was unaware about. All the same, Bertholdt stares imploringly at him, attempting to mentally communicate all the reasons why this was a bad idea.

Of course, Reiner ignores him.

“It’s no trouble. I mean we’re all planning on joining to military, right Bert?” He says, shooting a winning smile in his direction. “Why not just go together?”

Eren frowns, eyebrows furrowing.

“I didn’t know you two were planning on joining the military.”

Neither did he.

“It never came up? Sorry, I guess I was preoccupied at the time.”

Bertholdt stares harder.

He increases the action tenfold after catching Eren contemplating Reiner’s suggestion. _Please God, no_.

“Alright, sounds like a plan!” Eren grins.

Bertholdt mentally screams.

 

////////////////////////

 

Like many things, privacy was one of the few luxuries he and Reiner had to learn to live without since their infiltration of the wall, and Bertholdt has to wait until late that night to properly chew Reiner out.

Not that he got much sleep these days, anyway…

Eyes straining, Bertholdt unforgivingly jabs a foot into Reiner’s back, causing him to snort awake.

“Joining the military?” He hisses, between their makeshift beds, after assuring Eren was asleep. “Were you even going to bring this up until today?”

“The fu—Bert? Go back to sleep,” Reiner whines.

“No,” Bertholdt snaps, utilizing days’ worth of aggravation to keep his voice steady. “I want to know what stupid reason you have to think that working alongside the worse of these— _these scum_ , is a good one. And then I’m going to shoot it down.”

“Shit… we’re really doing this now, aren’t we?” Reiner groans, before turning to face him. “Didn’t you hear what Eren prattled on about it?”

“No, because I don’t believe in hanging on to his every word, like some of us.”

“Aww Bert, “ Reiner coos. “Don’t be jealous. You know I would never replace you.”

“Stop joking, this is serious.”

“I’m being completely serious,” Reiner snickers and Bertholdt resists kicking him again. “Three meals a day. No more running from grocers or hiding from murderous cults. Not to mentioned, Annie could find us more easily… doesn’t that sound better than what we have now?”

Bertholdt frowns.

When he puts it like that, it kind of does. And it’s… nice to know that Reiner has been thinking about how to improve their conditions. A pleasant surprise, even. But Bertholdt has known Reiner for far too long to not sense he was hiding something. Some other agenda he wasn’t aware about.

But until Bertholdt knew what exactly it was, he may as well be grasping at air.

Feeling his previous momentum deflating, Bertholdt’s next reply comes out in a small mumble.

“We’ve managed fine so far…”

Reiner only shakes his head. “That’s a load of shit and you know it… we have maybe, _maybe_ two days’ worth of food left. And that’s only if we stretch it.”

And whose fault was that? Who brought another hungry mouth to feed?

Regardless, Bertholdt finds himself biting his lip.

“I know what Franz and everyone else told us… but joining is going to help us a lot, and…” Reiner trails off, appearing uncertain for a moment, “these are just rumors… but I’ve heard the Military Police gets a lot of benefits. Better food, shelter, that sort of thing, but also… connections… ones excluded only to that regiment.”

The realization clicks.

“You think they have resources to find the coordinate,” he breathes.

“It’s a long shot,” Reiner adds quickly, “but at this rate, out best one… at least… until the three years are up…”

A lapse of silence falls between them. Bertholdt knows he’s out of arguments.

Reiner wait patiently until Bertholdt eventually manages a stiff, “fine.”

Offering only a crooked grin, a long yawn escapes from Reiner’s mouth and he turns away fully.

“Good talk. I’m going to catch some shut eye. If anything else pops into your head, save it for morning.”

Bertholdt settles into his worn blanket, feeling only slightly placated. It doesn’t occur to him, until Reiner is fully snoring, that he never told Bertholdt why joining the military also meant helping Eren.

 

////////////////////////

 

And that was how Bertholdt found their quiet little set-up uprooted to go on a wild goose chase to find some stranger’s friends.

Packing away their meager possession the next morning proves to be both a laughable and sad affair, especially when the realization dawns that they wouldn’t need most of it, courtesy of military’s minimalistic lifestyle. Most of their stuff gets left behind or sold, while the rest fill two bulky backpacks. Eren complains at first about switching off, still insistent on repaying their (Reiner’s) generosity, but quickly quiets after managing only two steps before toppling over.

Eren’s embarrassed flush serves as Bertholdt’s only highlight for that day.

“Do you have any idea where they might be?” Reiner asks, as they settle for a quick lunch.

Eren shrugs.

“Not really. The last time I saw them was at one of the camps… seven or eight weeks ago…”

The realization of his long absence sinks in and Eren’s eyes become sad.

Observing Eren’s reaction provokes a sympathetic noise from Reiner. Any sympathy Bertholdt may have felt was squashed by his annoyance by this entire situation. He may have agreed to Reiner’s idea of joining the military, but if he knew that included babysitting – what Bertholdt was rapidly learning every passing minute – an obnoxious teen, he would have been more resistant.

“They’re probably still there…” Bertholdt says, wanting this mission, quest, whatever to be over with as soon as possible. “Last I heard the King was still trying to sort out the overpopulation.”

“You think so?” Eren says, hopeful.

No. But if it got him to stop sulking, Bertholdt would claim north was south, the grass was blue and that Eren was a titan.

“Sure.”

They move out.

The first day yields no results. The same outcome occurs for the second, the third and the fourth. Before they realize it, two weeks have passed.

The fifteenth day seems hopeless as well. Morning becomes evening and with their source of light nearly gone, it was hard not to feel agitated by how little progress they had to show for in the end.

“Six camps,” Reiner growls, as they exit the compound, “we’ve been through six camps and have nothing to show for it.” He viciously kicks a piece of litter into the gutter.

“I know,” Eren sighs before flopping down on a nearby crate. “Listen, I’m sorry for wasting your time. I really thought we would have found them by now…” he apologizes.

Annoyance quickly sobering, Reiner turns to Eren.

“Hey, don’t worry. It’s a big city. I knew finding your friends wasn’t going to be that easy. But sooner or later, they’ll have to turn up,” he offers Eren a warm smile, which the teen slowly returns.

Nearby Bertholdt refrains from rolling his eyes; Reiner’s optimism has been insufferable lately.

“Anyway, we gave it our best effort. Let’s find a place to sleep and we’ll try again, first thing tomorrow morn—“

“Eren?”

They stiffen, however Eren is the first to relax when they spot a blond-hair teen. Nothing about the stranger’s appearance leaves a lasting impression, from his small stature to his average features, but Eren beams at him like there’s no greater person in the world.

“Armin!” Eren cries face lighting up as he bounces off the crate, in a rush to greet the stranger. Clasping the other teen’s shoulders, he exclaims, “man, am I glad to see you!”

“H—how?” Armin’s face is caught between joy and disbelief. “What happened? The last time Mikasa and I saw you—“

Eren’s eyes widen further. “Mikasa! Oh man—where is she?”

“I’m here.”

All five heads swivel in the new voice’s direction, and Bertholdt anxiously wonders how they failed to sense her presence. The girl, despite her intimidating air, is very pretty with dark hair and eyes. Within them, Bertholdt spots a certain warmth, directed towards Eren.

Eren is again the first to react. “Mikasa! I’m so happy to se—“

Said girl’s fist collides into Eren’s face producing a sickening crack.

Even Bertholdt winces in sympathy.

Before Eren topples over, blood streaming from his nose, the cartilage most likely broken, Mikasa yanks him into a constricting hug. Into his hair, she whispers, ‘don’t you ever do that to me again’.

 

////////////////////////

 

Awkward reunions and equally awkward introductions aside, joining the military leads to some peace.

Eren re-unites with his two friends and Reiner drop whatever heroic, episodic crisis he was experiencing, much to Bertholdt’s immense relief.

Three days before their introductory ceremony, they finally meet Annie, Berrik’s replacement.

At first, Bertholdt doesn’t recognize her, his last memory being of a shy young girl who hid behind her father’s knees. He recalled her family living some ways off from the main village, only visiting on rare occasions, but ultimately keeping to themselves. Of all their previous encounters, he only recalls Annie speaking a handful of words at most, and while she’s just as reserved as he remembers, all remnants of softness is gone replaced by something hard and cold.

Though there were… occasions that suggested a specific resentment directed towards him and Reiner. But given how little Bertholdt knew about her, he couldn’t really say.

Regardless, they establish an unspoken agreement, mostly through Annie’s ‘insistence’, about limiting their interactions beyond what was necessary. And as strange as the arrangement is, Bertholdt doesn’t dare argue against it.

For the most part, he and Reiner stick together, socializing only enough to avoid drawing suspicion. Training, school and chores monopolize their time, quickly becoming routine, and it’s only then that Bertholdt realized how much he missed having a schedule, if only to keep his mind busy.

Eventually things become almost peaceful again.

Almost.

“Please, please, I need your help with the 3D maneuver gear because if I don’t fucking learn how to use it tomorrow, I’m going to flunk out of the military!”

Reiner blinks.

Bertholdt blinks.

“What?” Reiner says.

Eren’s chest heaves like he’s about to word vomit all over again, but fortunately, Armin lays a hand on his friend’s shoulder, sparing Bertholdt and Reiner the discomfort.

“Eren’s been... having trouble with the 3D maneuver gear,” Armin explains. “And we figured since you two got high scores on the pre-evaluations, you could help him out?”

Bertholdt’s eyes find the bandage wrapped around Eren’s head, recalling the teen’s earlier performance with the equipment. If ‘having trouble’ meant being a complete and hopeless wreck, then sure, he could agree.

And if he found the entire thing funnier considering Eren’s previous (and annoyingly frequent) declarations about being the one to exterminate all titans, well, that was nobody’s business but his own.

Reiner’s mouth twists, mulling over the request. After a moment, he regards the two apologetically.

“Sorry Eren… I’m… not sure there’s any real secret to just dangling there?”

Catching the complete anguish beginning to twist Eren’s feature Reiner tries to amend, “Didn’t Mikasa get top score? Why aren’t you asking her?”

Only Bertholdt picks up on the additional question. Why is she letting you talk to us? Part of the reason why he and Reiner saw so little of Eren was due to Mikasa’s influence. While they both got along well with Armin, Mikasa made it overtly clear that, for whatever reason, she hated their guts. And that hatred influenced the degree of Eren’s interaction with them. Needless to say, whenever Eren attempted to converse with them, Mikasa was there to quickly steer him away.

Despite all the chilly treatment, Bertholdt was almost thankful she kept him on such a tight leash.

At the question, Eren purses his lips like he bit into something sour.

“We’re not talking right now.”

Armin’s eyes seem to roll into his head at that, and Bertholdt wonders, not for the first time, how the two became friends. _Why_ they were still friends.

Noticing the topic drifting, Armin redirects the conversation back.

“Look, the evaluations are tomorrow. We would really appreciate if you gave Eren some pointers.”

Reiner and Bertholdt exchange looks.

‘No.’ Bertholdt’s face says.

“Yes,” Reiner answers, looking at Eren and Armin.

Sometimes Bertholdt wondered why he even bothered anymore.

Eren’s face splits into a relieved grin.

“Thank you. God, you two are such life savers!”

Reiner returns the smile.

“Not a prob—“

Before the two could get ahead of themselves, and feeling just a little spiteful, Bertholdt interjects.

“We should wait until later. Most of the instructors are still awake right now,” he says.

Armin, bless him, nods as well.

“I agree.”

Eren opens his mouth as though to argue, reconsiders and closes it.

Would you look at that? Progress.

The two teens settle onto the mattress that makes Bertholdt and Reiner’s beds, to wait out the next couple of hours. To his dismay, Eren plops himself down on Bertholdt’s own while Armin takes residence on Reiner’s. Conversation flow easily among them, though Bertholdt feels little interest in contributing beyond a comment here and there. It was easier this way. The less people knew about him, the less discrepancies he had to worry about later on.

“So you both grew up in the same town?” Reiner inquires.

Armin and Eren share a grin.

“Yeah, both Armin and I are from Shiganshina.”

The piece of information isn’t any news to Bertholdt. Most of the trainees knew that the two hailed from that district, and yet for some reason Bertholdt’s stomach churns all the same.

The words slip out before he can think twice about them.

“So you saw the titans, first hand.”

Tension fills the previously relaxed setting and Bertholdt suddenly finds himself in the uncomfortable position of having three pairs of eyes trained on him.

Eren is the first to speak.

“Yeah. We did.”

Bertholdt remembers that same expression back when they first met and knows he’s treading on eggshells.

Eren clearly expected a similar slew of questions like the ones he received from their classmates the night before. And while he acted dismissive in front of an audience, it was obviously a sore subject. For whatever reason.

Bertholdt nervously licks his lips, brain racking for some follow-up. He should apologize, tell Eren to forget he asked… but all can see are hands swiping at scrambling people, _their screams ringing inside his ears_ —

“You know how dangerous they are…” he checks Eren’s face for some indication that he wasn’t blundering his way down dangerous territory and finds it unhelpfully blank. Nonetheless, he forces himself to maintain eye contact. “After all that, why would you— either of you—want to become soldiers?”

And maybe it was because Bertholdt held his ground, or because the question (to Bertholdt’s own surprise) was genuine, that instead of going off, Eren’s stony expression instead morphs into quiet contemplation.

After a while, Armin breaks the silence.

“I… didn’t exactly see the titan’s destruction first-hand,” he begins, “but to answer your question, I personally couldn’t just sit around doing nothing… especially after the royal government forced people into that absurd counterattack.”

The counterattack Armin referred to was the king’s poorly concealed attempt of dealing with the overpopulation. Another one of the many things Bertholdt kept in the back of his mind.

“I see…”

Throughout the explanation, Eren remains quiet, and Bertholdt feels resentful that he can’t appreciate this rare moment of silence.

Where did all the bravado go?

Again, Armin is the first to speak.

“Reiner told me some time ago that you two were from a village on the outskirts of Wall Maria?” He asks.

“The south-eastern,” Reiner confirms. Recites. “Unlike the riverside towns, we didn’t get word of the breech until it was too late.”

“Before the titans got to us first,” Bertholdt murmurs. “I remember the livestock going crazy and these weird tremors shaking the buildings. I thought it was an earthquake, at first. Imagine my surprise when I realized they were footsteps…”

The lies come smoothly, fake back-stories long memorized to the point they were almost a second language. Though he supposes projecting similar, past traumas helped with authenticity.

Later, Bertholdt would wonder why he chose to recount his fake personal encounter, and would realize he was trying to provoke a reaction. Trying to _scare_ them.

Because even as a warrior, the danger of non-shifters was a fear instilled into him; to have humans think otherwise…

“Hey,” Reiner interrupts, “this trip down memory lane is taking a dark turn, don’t you think?” Even though he was more open than Bertholdt, Reiner never liked delving into the gritty details of their made-up past.

“Sorry,” Bertholdt says, before turning to Armin and Eren.

“Neither of you are like the others…” he states, tone soft but words cold. “They’re here to keep up appearances. Because they say people who work in factories, instead of choosing to serve the king, are cowards.”

Bertholdt wasn’t sure why he was pushing this. Normal Bert would have just let the conversation drop. Normal Bert wouldn’t care what made these two ticked. Normal Bert wouldn’t get so riled up over the fact that these two kids, who knew how truly dangerous titans were, would still try to fight back… who in their right mind, would give up self-preservation.

Because who was he to judge how they wasted their lives?

At the thought, Bertholdt scoffs in his throat.

“But I guess I… I’m no different from them.”

The words carry completely different implications between them and yet somehow the overall meaning is the same.

“Bertholdt…” Reiner tries to intervene.

“I don’t want to be a coward but I want to stay alive. That’s why I became a soldier in the first place. So people wouldn’t think badly of me—but I just want to get away from danger, I just want to be safe…. If I can’t have that….”

Bertholdt’s chest constricts. He never liked thinking of their mission this way… like it was some sort of punishment. Some curse inflicted on him upon birth. Because that sort of thinking was selfish. _Disgraceful_. It was an honor to be chosen, to be selected to correct a lifetime wrong.

But even as a child, and as later confirmed by their travels and eventual infiltration of the wall, Bertholdt knew his life would forever be plagued by danger. That suffering was necessary however. Because no one, no one in this entire world were capable of accomplishing the same things expected from him.

“I have no will of my own.” The words are a shamed confession.

But you have a chance and you’re throwing everything away—

The silence stretches.

Until finally, Eren speaks.

“You asked… why I wanted to become a soldier.”

Bertholdt’s eyes meet Eren’s and the other returns his stare.

For once, Bertholdt eagerly waits for Eren’s response…

“I felt like it was my responsibility to kill the titans,” Eren explains. “I have to exterminate all of them. To make sure they would never hurt anyone again.”

… And was disappointingly let down.

That disappointment was enough to sober him up and force a thin smile on his face.

“So not even witnessing what the titans are capable of could break your spirit.”

Eren reply is firm.

“No.”

How stupid.

 

////////////////////////

 

Bertholdt liked to think very little surprised him anymore.

Because let’s face it; no one, in his position, could survive relying on idealism, hopeful thinking or any other ridiculous notion that things would work in his favor, if only he just wished hard enough. No, he learned early on that survival meant being able to assess both situations and people, objectively and realistically… that is, unless he wanted to find himself in an incredibly sticky situation.

So when Reiner leaned in and asked, “Do you think Eren will be alright long enough to pass?” He refrained from deadpanning a blunt, ‘no’.

And it was probably for the best anyway, in a lifestyle where life and death decisions were frequent, the military was no place for cadets incapable of recognizing their own limitations… let alone ones who couldn’t pass a test where all you had to do was _dangle there_.

The failure would be a major blow to Eren’s ego, but the only terrible outcome would be force resignation and being booted to work off in the fields. There were certainly worse outcomes.

So he wasn’t surprised to watch Eren hoisted only to crash down into the dirt a minute later. He wasn’t surprised to watch Eren desperately beg for another chance, fingers scrambling across the dirt, as though that would help orient himself. None of these events surprised him in the slightest.

What did surprise him was learning that Eren’s gear was faulty.

And while he felt no initial satisfaction watching Eren fail, Bertholdt could feel himself grinding his teeth all the same.

Which he continued to do so long after Eren finished his exam, up to the point where said teen ran up to them, eyes bright, gushing his gratitude.

Plainly, Eren’s joy proved infectious because soon Reiner was grinning too. He thumps a large hand against Eren’s back, nearly knocking him over.

“What are you thanking us for? If wasn’t for your broken gear, you would have been completely fine!”

‘At performing a basic level skill,’ Bertholdt refrains from adding.

Eren shakes his head.

“You two still took the time to help me, when I seemed like a lost cause,” Eren laughs. He directs his eyes from Reiner to Bertholdt. “There’s no way I could ever repay you.”

Maybe he was fooling himself earlier about his objectivity, because while Reiner preened under Eren’s kind words, Bertholdt wanted to gag.

Resisting the urge to visibly recoil from Eren’s earnest stare, he forces a smile instead.

“Don’t worry. It was nothing.”

A strange indecipherable look overtakes Eren’s features at the response but before he could say anything, two voices call Eren’s name.

“Mikasa! Armin!”

Bertholdt and Reiner cringed.

Oblivious to the sudden discomfort in the air, Eren turns to Mikasa, former wide smile returning to his face.

“Mikasa! I passed! You don’t have to take care of me anymore!”

“Don’t forget that you had help!” Armin adds, laughing when Eren hisses a ‘don’t ruin this for me’ in his direction.

Absently, Mikasa brushes off the remaining dirt stuck to Eren’s uniform, ignoring the scowls he shot her way. If anything, her eyes became softer.

“Don’t be stupid. We still have a long way to go.”

While the words alone may have sounded harsh, her gentle tone takes most of the edge off. Bertholdt watches her hand linger on Eren’s hair briefly before dropping to her side. Even if everything he knew proved to be obsolete, let it never be said that Mikasa didn’t think of the world of Eren.

Feeling like an outsider witnessing the exchange, Bertholdt shifts to quietly take his leave… until Reiner chooses that exact moment to open his mouth.

“She’s right you know. It’ll be another three years before we graduate.”

Bertholdt didn’t how it was possible but Mikasa had the ability to shoot a scathing stare that rivaled Annie’s. It was a sensation he could only describe as something akin to what one might give an unwanted cockroach… a sentiment that was usually followed by crushing said insect underneath ones boot.

At this point, Bertholdt was honestly starting to worry for their safety. Like legit fear. While Mikasa avoided being visibly antagonistic, first-hand experience taught has him that she had the potential to be an absolute terror.

Even now, Bertholdt couldn’t think about kitchen duty without shuddering.

Picking up on Mikasa’s growing hostility, Armin intervenes.

“Hey, there’s no reason to worry about that right now. We should be celebrating!”

Eren perks at the suggestion. “Yeah! Hey Reiner, Bertholdt. Do you want to come—?”

“Actually, Reiner and I was just talking about how tired we were,” Bertholdt cuts.

His explanation draws several stare and the scrutiny causes his follow-up to become harder to communicate.

“We were all up pretty late last night… PRACTICING FOR TODAY’S TEST,” he quickly adds after seeing Reiner’s eyebrows rise. “I can’t understand how you two have any energy left.”

The same funny look returns to Eren’s face, and Bertholdt has to refrain from visibly gritting his teeth. What was that all about?

“You sure? I mean we could—“

“It’s okay! We’re just going to head back to the barracks!”

And with that, Bertholdt drags Reiner away before anyone could squeeze in another word.

Once out of earshot, Bertholdt shoots his own scathing stare at Reiner.

“Are you trying to get us killed?”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t join—“

“Because Mikasa would skin us alive if we breathe same air as her dear Eren,” Bertholdt snaps. “Or have you completely missed all the death threats?”

Reiner sputters.

“Of course not!” He shouts, causing a couple classmates to glance their way. Reiner quickly ducks to regain some discrepancy. “I don’t understand what her problem is. I mean, it’s not like we’ve done anything to piss her off, right?”

Bertholdt couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Reiner was sulking.

This time, it was his turn to sputter.

“You can’t be serious.” Bertholdt tries to rein his frustration. “Why would that even matter?”

“Stop,” he orders. Reiner closes his mouth. It was funny how such a small action disturbed him.

“We are not here to make friends. We are not here to stand out,” Bertholdt stresses. “You and I both know what’s at stake. Trust me when I say we’re better off taking a note from Annie and keeping our heads down. Understand?”

Bertholdt would have liked to believe he made his case but the apparent irritation on Reiner’s face indicated otherwise.

“I hear you. You don’t need to throw such a hissy-fit,” he scowls.

Something in Bertholdt’s face must have conveyed his hurt, because Reiner’s features soon soften.

“Sorry. Look. I get you’re still anxious—don’t lie,” Reiner cuts when Bertholdt starts to object, “By this whole situation, but isolating ourselves will likely cause more problems than prevent them. We can’t let fear get the better of us.”

It was times like these Bertholdt hated Reiner’s uncanny ability to strike an issue straight on its head.

He was right. Bertholdt was _anxious_. Ever since their arrival, it has been one improvisation after another; worrying about the most pressing issue and ignoring the rest. Neither of them had any idea what they were doing, let alone a solid plan to follow. And while things were running as smoothly as they could be now, sooner or later, their luck was going to run out.

Despite all that, Bertholdt just couldn’t get past Reiner’s weird fixation when it came to Eren.

“You— it’s just not as simple as you try to make it sound,” Bertholdt says, struggling to make Reiner understand just how fragile their situation was. “We can’t get attach to these people, Reiner. _We just can’t_.”

After a long stretch of silence, Reiner replies, softly, “I know.”

‘Do you?’ He almost accuses.

Bertholdt considers pressing further, if only to gain some peace of mind. To have some assurance that he wasn’t alone in this. That Reiner wasn’t…

Instead, he only nods in response.

An awkward air hangs between them until a slow, crooked grin stretches across Reiner’s face.

"You know that excuse you made up earlier? About last night?"

Bertholdt frowns, guarded.

“Yeah?”

"You sounded like a pervert."

Bertholdt hits Reiner.

 

////////////////////////

 

Most days, Bertholdt thinks back to that conversations and wonders if he hadn’t hesitated, i _f he had pushed the issue,_ that they could have avoided the mess they were in now.

He blames himself for the oversight.

Blames Reiner too, but mostly himself, because if there’s anything he’s learned from Franz, it’s that the best plans only work when its participants were willing.

Reiner was stupidly charming.

Somewhat dense and impulsive but a recognizable leader. Even without Eren’s reiteration of how _great of a help he and Bertholdt were_ , people flocked to him for guidance because, let’s face it, Reiner was just damn likeable. And after some reluctance, Reiner began to welcome their company, one seemingly harmless act that highlighted Bertholdt’s entire problem.

Reiner had a problem of saying ‘no’ to people.

All but to Bertholdt apparently.

And while Bertholdt tried to discourage these interactions whenever possible, the chore grew more daunting as time passed.

Most days he remained a shadow, keeping a close eye on Reiner and eventually dragging him away after spouting some excuse. He often heard snide remarks, calling him a stingy boyfriend (a good of a cover as any, he supposed), so it was no surprise that people took little interest in him. And the rare few that did lost it just as quickly.

No one wanted to be friends with someone, whose half-assed conversations were always blatant attempts to make the other party go away.

No one but Eren, apparently.

“Hey Bertholdt! We’re going to be handling laundry today!”

Bertholdt nearly leaps out of his skin as Eren materializes behind him for what felt like the seventh time that week. For such a big-mouth, Eren could be surprisingly stealthy.

Pasting a strain smile across his face, Bertholdt turns to Eren, recited apology in order.

“I’m so sorry Eren. But I already agreed to help clean the classrooms with Armin.”

Undeterred, Eren replies, “That’s fine. I can join you guys.”

Chancing a glance to where some students had gathered for equipment check, Bertholdt makes the unfortunate mistakes of establishing eye contact with Mikasa. As though sensing the event about to pass, a disapproving frown lines her lips as she returns a cold stare in his direction. Bertholdt immediately averts his eyes.

“That—um—I don’t think that would be—“

“What’s the problem?” Eren presses. Like Mikasa, his stare is also unflinching and damn it, no one could possibly be this dense, this was clearly a set up—

Feeling his eye start to twitch, a godsend arrives in the form of Armin Arlert who prods Eren’s shoulder with a finger.

“Sorry Eren. I’m pretty sure Shadis would have our heads if we tried to swap chores. Especially after the prank Connie and Sasha pulled yesterday. Maybe next time though?” He says, offering a smile.

A conflicted look overtakes Eren’s face as he measure the risk of inciting Shadis wrath, one which proves too great. After mumbling something incomprehensible, Eren gives a taut nod.

“Right. See you two later.”

“Bye Eren.”

Once Eren was some distance away, Bertholdt turns to the shorter teen and mouths ‘thank you’. Armin only returns the gesture with a polite nod.

Sometime after they gathered the necessary supplies and began tackling the classrooms, Armin prompts, not unkindly, “You do know that Eren is going to keep pestering you until you directly tell him to leave you alone, right?”

“I thought he would pick up all the hints I dropped,” Bertholdt says dryly.

“Hate to break it to you but that area has never been one of Eren’s strongest suits.”

Bertholdt rolls his eyes, swiping a gray rag across another desk. He wonders if the last user bothered to clean it, since the rag only seemed to spread the grime instead of collecting it.

“Great.”

At the clipped response, Armin’s smile drops and he turns to regards Bertholdt carefully.

“He’s… not as bad as you think. Eren thinks highly of you and Reiner.”

“Sure, I guess.”

Bertholdt was falling back on his usual tactic for avoiding conversations he didn’t want to have: dodge all attempts at furthering the discussion and hope it eventually drops.

Armins sighs, all too aware of the trick. This wasn’t the first time they had this conversation.

“I know I can’t force you two to be friends or for you to like him. But to be honest, I’m kind of… lost at the reasoning behind it?”

‘Where do I even begin?’ Bertholdt thinks.

He supposed if he looked passed the front, Eren exhibit his own type of… charm. And Armin, having known Eren since childhood and being one of the few people whose opinion Bertholdt respected, would have valuable insight to his character…

And yet none of this changed the fact that Bertholdt couldn’t get past everything else, specifically Eren’s insistence to make himself out as a martyr. It was aggravating. How overinflated Eren’s ego was; like his background automatically made his views morally correct, because he suffered the worse of ‘humanity’s first attack’ from the titans. _Selected for some greater purpose_. In a way, it made him no different from a fanatic and while Bertholdt would never admit it aloud, that level of devotion scares him.

Bertholdt thinks of Eren back in the basement. How his hate extended beyond justifiable anger. Maybe Bertholdt was overanalyzing the situation but he suspected, if given the opportunity, Eren would not only have killed all his captors but made them suffer.

Either way, Bertholdt didn’t want to be Eren’s friend. Ever.

“Jean doesn’t like Eren,” he finally points out.

“Jean doesn’t like Eren because they’re both stubborn dicks,” Armin states, like Bertholdt just asked him what color the sky was. He feels a smile tug at his mouth.

“And because he thinks Eren is his rival for Mikasa’s affections.”

Bertholdt’s smile slips. He can see the exact moment Arming makes the connection inside his head.

“Is this because of Mikasa?”

Involuntarily, Bertholdt’s expression blanks and he mentally kicks himself for it, knowing that Armin would see it as some kind of confirmation. The idea wasn’t… exactly correct, but Bertholdt would be lying if he said Mikasa’s scorn for them wasn’t a contributing factor.

“Let’s say it is. Then what? Nothing is going to change her opinion towards Reiner or me,” he says, before turning to work on another table.

"Bertholdt."

Distracted by his attempt to seem preoccupied, their proximity completely escapes his notice, and Bertholdt soon finds himself reluctantly meeting the other teen’s eyes.

Unlike Eren, Armin has the decency to provide him with the socially acceptable amount of personal space.

Armin pauses for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts and it irks Bertholdt to think that Armin considers this a delicate issue.

“You probably already know that Eren and Mikasa aren’t related,” he begins. “But they’ve know each other since they were kids, which might as well make them family.”

Bertholdt had no idea what Armin was getting at. This wasn’t news to him.

Still, he stays quiet, hoping his silence would facilitate whatever insight Armin was attempting to convey, one which Bertholdt would promptly forget at his earliest convenience.

"Mikasa considers Eren her responsibility. He’s… one of the few people she has left… and when he got kidnapped, well…"

He shakes his head. “Eren was gone for a month, Bertholdt. Everything was a mess after Wall Maria fell. Families, friends, anyone who got separated… they were lucky if they ever see one another again. And those that weren’t, those that went missing…”

Armin’s fists suddenly clenches, his eyes darkening.

“The military police had bigger problems to worry about than finding some snot-nose brat.”

The implication behind his statement was more than clear, and Bertholdt shifts uncomfortably. He only wondered a couple of times how Eren turned up in that basement; always figured that Eren just happened to pissed off the wrong person and got himself kidnapped. But from what Armin was hinting at, the circumstances behind Eren’s abduction seemed more… calculative. Opportunistic.

Taking a deep breath, Armin forces his fingers to uncurl.

“I don’t think I saw Mikasa sleep more than a handful of hours… during that time. She spent every single day trying to find him.”

He makes eye contact.

“Until you and Reiner did.”

Bertholdt swallows as a small, sad smile overtake Armin’s face.

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m so, so grateful that you found him… But Mikasa…” He trails off. "I think… Mikasa felt ashamed."

"Ashamed?" Bertholdt echoes. The final piece had fallen into place and yet he was having difficulty comprehending the full picture. "Because she couldn’t protect Eren?"

Armin shoots back a meaningful look.

The explanation did make sense. Bertholdt knew first-hand how protective she could be. And from what Armin implied, he could only imagine the amount of labor she must have devoted trying to find her remaining family. Labor, that was undermined when he and Reiner found Eren through dumb luck. Even if things had worked out in the end, the whole thing must have been a slap in the face. That she couldn’t protect Eren when he needed it most and was denied the opportunity to redeem herself.

Still, even with the new perspective on her position, he couldn’t bring himself to feel that sympathetic; which was probably why he felt less than accommodating towards Armin’s follow up:

"I think if you tried talking to her, you two could come to some sort of agreement."

Already shaking his head, Bertholdt replies, “Armin, I appreciate the… suggestion… but I don’t think that’s going to work. And I don’t see how it helps with my problem with Eren.”

Armin remains unmoved.

“Doesn’t it?”

Before Bertholdt could reply, Armin continues, “I just think it’s ridiculous that we’re fighting with one another… over something that isn’t really anyone’s fault.”

His mouth thins.

"We have enough to worry about, without being at each other’s throats all the time."

Recognizing the determination that seemed to be a distinguished trait amongst the trio, Bertholdt heaves a large sigh. He knows when he’s beaten.

"I’ll think about it."

He turns away, hoping Armin would get the hint and recognize that the conversation was over.

"Eren sees something good in you."

Bertholdt hands curls.

"And what about you?"

Armin turns. “What about me?”

"You’ve known me for a while… I’ve told you about my selfish goal; that I want to join the military police because I would rather be safe, instead of defend humanity,” he looks back. “Do you still think there’s something good?"

Armin meets his eyes fully, reminding Bertholdt once again that, if given the correct push, he could become a very dangerous threat one day.

"You tell me."

 

////////////////////////

 

"Huh."

Bertholdt’s eyebrows furrow.

"And?"

"And what?"

"What do you think?"

Reiner rubs a hand beneath his chin.

“It just… explains a lot. No wonder she hates our guts so much.”

Having relayed his previous conversation with Armin, over breakfast the next morning (the few times where Reiner’s fan club was blissfully absent), Bertholdt hoped to gain a valuable second opinion on their next course of action.

So far, he was regretting his decision.

Bertholdt frowns. “I think you’re missing the point here.”

"I am?" Reiner asks, confused.

Bertholdt presses a palm to his forehead. It was too early to be dealing with this shit.

"Just-- what do you think we should do?"

The confusion fails to leave Reiner’s face.

“About Mikasa? Well, make peace of course.”

Bertholdt jaw clenches.

“Why?" He demands.

"Why not?" Reiner shoots back. He shovels several bites of their typical breakfast mush, more liquid than grain, into his mouth.

"Look, I don’t know about you, but I rather not have one of the best cadets, out for my ass for the next two years. It may be harmless enough while we’re still here inside the camp, but out in the fields…" He lets the comment hang. "So, let’s, you know, try to make peace."

"There’s no guarantee that will work." Bertholdt’s fingers begin to massage his temple. "Mikasa’s stubborn. I think we should try to hit two birds with one stone, and just cut ties with Eren."

Reiner squints.

"Eren? Last time I checked, he wasn’t the one tipping a bottle full of equipment oil in to my lap."

Bertholdt’s head jolts up.

“What?”

Reiner waves a hand flippantly.

“Eh, happened yesterday. Not a big deal. Ruined a nice pair of pants though…. whose stupid idea was it to have color white as part of the uniform?” He wonders. “Anyway, why do you have it out for the kid? I thought you were just being cautious before, but this has been going on for like, months. What gives?”

"I don’t have it out for him!" Bertholdt denies, in a hush whisper.

The expression on Reiner’s face encourages Bertholdt to elaborate, and for a moment, he finds himself completely at a lost on how to reply.  
If Bertholdt was being fully honest, the first thing that popped into his head was that Eren was an insufferable prick whose idealistic visions had no place in the real world, and that he had no right in making their lives more difficult than they already were.

But of course, Reiner would see it as a lousy excuse, leaving Bertholdt back to square one.

"Eren is the easier route. If we can get him to leave us alone, Mikasa won’t see us as a potential threat."

Reiner frowns, sensing that Bertholdt was only giving him the half-truth.

“A ‘potential threat’ of what exactly? I don’t see why we need to be a bunch of jackasses to Eren just to get Mikasa off our backs. Or why we need to be jackasses to Eren, in general.”

He was losing this argument.

"Don’t you remember our conversation?"

"We’ve had a lot of conversations…You’re going to have give me more than that," Reiner sighs.

"About getting too close?"

"What?"

"Getting too close to the others?" Bertholdt insists.

Reiner snorts. “Getting too close to the others?” He recites, like Bertholdt just told him Jean had renounced his decision in joining the military police. “Bert, are you feeling alright?”

Studying the other teen’s face warily, Bertholdt tries to squash a rising panic. It wasn’t a lapse in memory. Reiner had no idea what he was talking about.

Anger swiftly replaces panic. Reiner had to be messing with him.

“This is a shitty joke,” he hisses.

Reiner recoils, stunned. Then his face twists.

“Who’s joking? Maybe if you would just tell me what the hell you’re talking about—“

“Stop playing dumb!”

The surrounding chatter of their classmates’ quiets and heads soon turn towards the commotion.

“Don’t be a shithead! I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about!”

"How can you have no idea what I’m--?"

"Hey Bertholdt!"

Bertholdt barely steels himself from screeching something unintelligible, as he reels towards Eren.

"Guess what?" He grins, "I took the liberty of signing us both up for supply check and--"

"You _what_."

Eren falters, as though noticing only just then the argument he’s interrupted.

“Well you seemed busy, so I figured you would forget to sign up for chores today… And since they’re still trying to clean out the laundry room—“

Bertholdt tunes out the rest of the explanation. Lately Eren has been trying to piggy-back off of the same chore as Bertholdt which meant a lot of last minute sign-ups. Normally Bertholdt would be using this time to select a chore where the quota was nearly filled. But because his argument with Reiner had absorbed that precious time slot, he neglected to sign up for something separate.

He was going to be stuck with Eren for the rest of the day.

“Hey, everything alright? I didn’t mean to interrupt—“

“No, you weren’t interrupting anything,” Reiner cuts, pushing himself from his seat. “In fact, I was just leaving.”

Bertholdt rises as well.

“Wait—“

“We’ll talk later,” Reiner snaps, shaking his head… as though _Bertholdt_ was the one being difficult.

Before he can say anything, one of the instructors enters and begins to order the students out of the dining hall. Speechless, Bertholdt unconsciously allows Eren to shuffle him along with their other classmates outside, in the direction of the equipment shed.

 

////////////////////////

 

It was well-known, among the squad, that the most sought after chore was supply check; not because of the task itself but for its benefits. For one thing, it always promised shelter from any unexpected weather, very little physical or mental demand was ever required, and one could always expect to complete the assignment early bestowing whichever lucky individuals, free time for the rest of that day.

In another setting, Bertholdt would be impressed that Eren snagged such a luxury. Pleased, maybe. After the fight with Reiner, however? It was safe to say his mood was permanently soured.

If Bertholdt was being honest though, he mostly clung to that anger to hide the gut-wrenching worry.

For the last twenty minutes, Bertholdt travels around like a puppet on strings, pencil scribbling down some vague note on the clipboard provided, while his mind grapples for some explanation that would shine clarity on Reiner’s… reaction.

Reiner had no memory of their previous conversation. That much was obvious. Bertholdt just didn’t understand _why_.

Could it even be considered a loss? It wasn’t as if Reiner had completely forgotten who he or Bertholdt was, or where they were. What Reiner forgot was simply… that event. As though his brain specifically chose that memory and eradicated it.

Bertholdt suddenly finds himself thinking about a figure from his childhood, an old, skeletal man he only remembered in passing. Faded images of a lone figure who sat on his porch for hours on end, skin stretched so thin that veins and bones showed through. Glass empty eyes, that stared at nothing. He remembered asking his guardian Jonas about him one day, only half-expecting an answer.

_“He’s gone.”_

_“But he’s right here,” Bertholdt insisted._

_“Only his body. Besides that, there’s nothing left of him. I doubt he even remembers who he was.”_

Bertholdt suddenly thinks of Reiner; loud obnoxious Reiner who spent the first month after their infiltration, sitting silent inside their tiny complex. Reiner who spent hours staring at the opposite wall, eyes swollen from lack of sleep, ignoring Bertholdt’s first gentle – then forceful, _t_ h _en desperate_ – urges to _please eat something, please Reiner_.

‘But Reiner’s not like that,’ he thinks. ‘He got better.’

The argument does little to ease his nerves.

Nearby, Eren fidgets. His eyes track Bertholdt’s movements and it’s only after opening and closing his mouth once, twice, that he finally musters the courage to speak.

“Hey…” he starts. ”About you and Reiner… this morning… is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bertholdt replies. He tries to read the next agenda listed. The words might as well be in another language.

Behind him, Eren’s face pinches in concern.

“You sure—“

“I’m sure.”

“I—okay. Fine.”

The room becomes quiet, broken only by the occasional scratches of pencil and shuffles as they make their way around the room. For a moment, Bertholdt allows himself to hope that this silence, however strained, would continue for the rest of the day, but that is clearly too much to ask for.

“Our final evaluation is coming up,” Eren muses.

Bertholdt’s grip tightens around his pencil.

“Is that so?”

He makes a point to emphasize his complete indifference.

“Yeah! Don’t tell me you forgot!” Eren says, appearing, of all things, aghast. Though Bertholdt supposes in retrospect, the upcoming evaluation was a genuine concern among trainees. Among normal people. “Shadis says it’s the most important test of our first year. Says it makes or breaks people, weeds out those who don’t make the cut.”

Bertholdt wisely refrains from informing Eren that given the military’s desperation for able bodies, the bar, most likely, was not set that high.

“I’ve been preoccupied.”

Its Bertholdt’s usual filler, meant to serve as a response yet convey no meaning at all. And yet something about it causes Eren to reel around, eyes wide in horror, like he just accidentally insulted Bertholdt’s mother.

“That wasn’t—“ Eren starts. ”I mean, I get you probably have more important-- shit, just, forget I said anything,” he finishes, before devoting his attention on a nearby wall.

Bertholdt eyes him.

“Right.”

This got weird fast.

Hoping that was the last attempts at pleasantries, Bertholdt resumes studying the clipboard in hand.

“How… do you think you’re going to do?”

Apparently not.

“—I’m doing well enough in hand to hand combat but I still can’t remember all the parts for the 3D gear,” Eren rambles. “Armin’s been quizzing me though so I think I should be good—“

“I’ll manage fine,” Bertholdt snaps, patience now gone

“R-right. Of course.”

The room falls silent again.

Bertholdt was no expert but even he knew something was off about Eren. He’s never seen him this frazzled; measuring each word like his life depended upon it. Bertholdt wasn’t sure if Eren’s sudden hesitancy was caused by some concern about his fight with Reiner or by some weird crisis altogether, but every passing minute had him silently pleading to let. This. All. End.

Since they met, Eren has been an incredible and increasing nuisance, his unknown and unwelcome fixation on becoming friends serving to only drive a wedge between them, instead of uniting. And even though Bertholdt just wanted to tell Eren, for lack of a better phrase, to piss off already, the timing couldn’t be much worse.

He had bigger things to worry about and that didn’t include dealing with the aftermath of Eren’s hurt feelings. For now, he just needed to get through… whatever this was…

Reiner’s condition, and anything involving his best friend, would always take priority over everything.

“Good. Great,” Eren continues. He shoots a large smile, which Bertholdt doesn’t return. The smile visibly becomes more forced. “Shooting for the top ten should be cake for you, eh?” Eren tries to joke. “Going to be number one?”

“I… would just be happy to get into the top ten. The whole ranking seems like a load of crap, in my opinion,” Bertholdt answers, before trying look absorbed in his work.

It’s only after he receives no response that Bertholdt looks up

Eren’s smile has entirely faded.

“What do you mean.”

Not a question. A demand.

Bertholdt feels his heart rate increase.

“I mean… that I wouldn’t care… whatever place among the top ten,” He says, careful. “It’s not like the numbers have any meaning, since most of the graduates wind up joining the military police anyway. There’s essentially no difference between getting first place or tenth."

Eren’s eyes narrow. Bertholdt swallows.

Something uneasy settles over him. All air of Eren’s previous hesitancy is now gone, replaced by something more… hostile. _Disgusted_.

"I--it's a bit too early anyway, isn't it?" Bertholdt hates the waver that grips his words. "There's still another two years for the instructors to measure our performance, and anything could happened. Besides, I—I think Shadis blows the importance of the first year out of p—proportion."

Already he regretted his next words.

“Something… wrong?”

For a moment, it seems like he’s not going to get a response, until Eren speaks in almost a too soft whisper.

"What’s wrong with you?"

The sentence only vaguely registers.

"Wha—"

"I said WHAT the fuck is wrong with you?" Eren snarls. He shoves a hand viciously through his hair. "I thought that you were like— I can't believe I was so stupid—"

Alarmed, Bertholdt quickly lifts his hand to placate the other teen. If Shadis came to investigate—

"E—Eren— calm down—"

This turns out to be a mistake because one blink later and Eren is in Bertholdt’s space.

"How, _the god damn fuck_ , are you Reiner's friend?" Eren hisses.

"What—?"

"Cut the act, already. I know this whole meek, ' _woe me_ ' thing you have going on is a load of bullshit. Or maybe it isn’t, and you’re really just as self-pitying as you make yourself out to be. Hell if I know. What I do know is that you easily have what it takes to be good as anyone here, and yet you— you fucking half ass everything!"

Bertholdt shrinks. But the more he pulls away, the more Eren seems to follow, and soon he finds himself trapped between a wall and one very terrifying teen, throwing an unexplainable tantrum.

The thought doesn’t occur later that Eren, of all people, had seen through Bertholdt's guise that he meticulously constructed since their first encounter.

"I mean, at least Annie or horse-face can be up-front about it— they can openly stand by their beliefs—”

A sarcastic laugh bubbles from Eren’s throat. “I honestly thought there was something more to you! I mean, seeing as you’re Reiner’s friend, I gave you the benefit of the doubt! _There had to be more to him_ , I thought. _No one who joined the military could possibly be such a spineless flake_ —“

His eyes snap to Bertholdt’s.

“But you? You are a joke.”

Words from someone who aggravated him shouldn’t have stung so much.

Eren’s eyes drift to the side, chest heaving like a rabid animal. Bertholdt remains still as though, somehow, that would avoid drawing Eren’s attention.

“I… I don’t get people like you.” The admission comes in a harsh whisper. “I don’t understand how anyone can— just not care…”

Eren’s fingers curl and release at his sides. His tone is difficult to place, though if Bertholdt were to make a guess, he would dare say Eren almost sounded… pained. _Desperate_.

“Don’t you know how much people like you are need?” Eyes meet his. “What’s at stake? Do you think every god awful thing will just magically go away if people continue to frolic off to the inner wall, just to sit around with their thumbs stuck up their asses? If we continue to do nothing at all?”

The question eventually escapes him.

“E—Eren… what are you getting at?”

The teen’s eyes narrow. He spits his answer like it should be obvious.

“Protecting humanity!”

And just like that, Bertholdt’s fear dissipates. And in its place, an emotion crawls, uncontrolled and acidic; one Bertholdt hasn’t felt since the day he kicked down the wall.

“ _Who are you to judge me_?”

To his immense satisfaction, Eren steps back, stunned.

“Just because you’re from Shinganshina, doesn’t mean you some martyr. You don’t get to determine what’s right and what’s wrong.”

Bertholdt rarely used his own height as leverage but now seemed like a good time as any.

“No one here owes you anything. _I don’t owe you anything_.”

Venom coils his next words.

“If anyone here is the joke, it’s you. Go ahead, give your speeches. Screech at people for making their own damn decisions. Because at the end of the day, it doesn’t change that you’re just some _stupid, weak kid_.”

Bertholdt doesn’t bother to note Eren’s reaction before he storms out of the room.

 

////////////////////////

 

Stupid. He was so stupid.

Stupid, Bertholdt berates himself, as he completes his ninth lap around camp, as per punishment for ditching his chores.

Stupid, it repeats after he stumbles into the dorms, empty stomach twisting into multiple knots, because he missed not one, but two meals.

 _So stupid_ , it hisses, in a voice not unlike his old teacher, who used to scream at him for being unable to shift into a fully grown titan at will. Who accused him of deliberately failing because he was selfish. That someone as weak as him didn’t deserve to be trusted in avenging their village, even after they discovered Bertholdt could only manage that complete form, once, every three years.

That single word repeats like a mantra inside his head. And it was only after Bertholdt collapsed on to his mat, his last image being of Reiner’s turned back that two thoughts broke through.

 _You_ ruined everything.

(Even now, Bertholdt wasn’t sure if he meant to address Eren or himself.)

Followed by…

What am I going to do now?

 

////////////////////////

 

Rumors spread fast about his punishment, something Bertholdt found befuddling but mostly stupid. It wasn’t some well-kept secret. And while Shadis assigning laps wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, the fact that Bertholdt received one was, apparently, unheard of.

_That weird guy that follows Reiner around? That guy?_

Classmates, who initially lost interest in befriending him, soon flocked with clear intentions of teasing out a good story. And while the experience was short lived, Bertholdt spent a good two days skirting questions, deadpanning his only crime was ditching chores that day. Dissatisfied but accepting, the questions soon ceased, and Bertholdt found himself thankful that Shadis had a reputation for issuing hefty punishments over the slightest misdemeanor.

The harder ones came from Reiner and Armin.

Funnily enough, they started off the same way.

An inquiry about what exactly happened. Bertholdt giving some half-ass response about how it was impossible to get along with Eren. The issue being pushed. Bertholdt’s deflection. Rinse and repeat, until they finally relented and gave up.

The only difference was that while his conversations with Armin became strained, the ones with Reiner became nonexistent.

The reasoning behind the latter was most likely due to their recent fight… and also Bertholdt’s newfound discovery.

It wasn’t definite, considering Bertholdt’s evidence was based solely from observation. But the more he watched and reflected on Reiner’s behavior, the more Bertholdt became convinced that there were two sides of him.

 

Bertholdt never noticed before but Reiner just had these… instances where he carried himself differently. One moment, his posture would be relaxed and open in the company of their classmates. The next it would close off, allowing Bertholdt to more easily prompt them away.

Multiple times, Bertholdt tried to voice his concern and each time, Reiner turned him away. Found some excuse, some escape, dodging all confrontations.

At one point when Bertholdt felt particularly insistent and had cornered him, Reiner became aggressive.

And Bertholdt has been hesitant to pursue the issue since.

He supposed the only silver lining to his situation was the fact that Eren hadn’t sic Mikasa on him. Though with his luck, it was only a matter of time.

Eren’s lack of discrepancy would be the eventual death of him, and at this rate, Bertholdt’s too.

Mikasa wasn’t stupid. For the past week since their fight, Eren has been sulking and refused to explain why. Given that Bertholdt was the last person to interact with him? It wasn’t hard to put two and two together.

Bertholdt had been lucky for the most part in evading her interrogations. Reiner, notably, has not. And for all the shit he’s put him through, Bertholdt had no interest finding out one day that Mikasa broke his face in, over some sarcastic retort or worse, a plea for peace.

Though he hadn’t expected Annie, of all people, to be the one to demand he get his shit together.

“You need to talk to Reiner.”

Bertholdt, who had been previously preoccupied with feeding one of the horses, startles at the voice. The animal makes a displeased sound at nearly having its food dropped.

“Wh—what?”

Bertholdt looks around the small barn, half-expecting the comment to be directed towards someone else and finds it empty.

He looks back at Annie.

“I—“ he takes a moment to reflect on her command. “I—I’ve tried.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Try harder.”

He clenches the bucket, a twitch in his jaw.

“How?” Bertholdt demands, frustration seeping into his voice. “He won’t listen to me!”

Annie, five feet tall, and more than a foot shorter than Bertholdt, steps forward, sending him skittering back.

“And it’s for that exact reason you need to knock some sense into him,” she states. “Reiner is getting too comfortable… he’s forgotten our mission. That—“ she emphasizes, “will be death of all of us.”

She was right.

It wasn’t a possibility Bertholdt liked to entertain… the idea that if Reiner’s mind strayed too far, he would become permanently trapped in his other persona, and out Annie and him. He didn’t want to think Reiner would be capable of such betrayal. But what Reiner was going through? What he was dealing with? Bertholdt knew it was beyond his fixing. Hell, he didn’t even know what _it_ really was.

These days, Reiner laughed more easily at jokes about killing titans.

“I don’t know what to do…” he finally admits.

And maybe it was the defeat in his tone or the sudden slump in his form, because something very, very small eases in Annie’s expression. Bertholdt wouldn’t call it gentleness (hasn’t seen anything remotely _gentle_ about the girl since their reunion), but it was close.

Folding her arms, Annie leans against one of the pins.

“They didn’t exactly prep us for this,“ she concedes.

Offering a thin smile, Bertholdt nods.

“No, they really didn’t.”

Bucket emptied, Bertholdt runs a hand gently over the horse’s snout and the animal presses into his palm. The small action brings him some comfort until the stress of their situation begins to weigh on him again.

“Shit,” he mumbles, letting his hand drop. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do about Reiner— and with the mission —Mikasa breathing down our necks—“

Bertholdt cuts himself off, glancing at Annie. He wondered if she cared about his predicament. Their interactions were so limited and for the most part, Annie didn’t care to involve herself with his or Reiner’s lives, unless it pertained to the mission.

Annie remains silent for a long while. So long Bertholdt wonders if she simply tuned him out.

“Worry about one thing at a time,” she finally says.

Bertholdt frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Dealing with Reiner will require a delicate hand. For now, we just need to keep an eye on him. As for our mission, the next step isn’t going to happen for another two years,” she elaborates. “Deal with Mikasa first.”

He considers over her input. And wonders how their life reached a point, where dealing with a possessive, homicidal step-sibling scaled as the least of their worries.

“Do… do you think… you could talk to her… instead?”

Annie shoots him a look that told him he was a moron, and yeah… that was kind of what he expected.

 

////////////////////////

 

As Bertholdt draws a deep breath and enters the armory, he thinks to himself that there were less painful ways to die than the one he was choosing now.

There is a quiet stir of teens sorting through the 3D maneuver gear, classmates chatting easily amongst themselves. Not too soft that a single conversation could permeate throughout the room, but not too loud that the noise would wear on his already frayed nerves. It’s an environment Bertholdt appreciates, considering how hard his heart was trying to leap out of his throat.

Two rows down and three tables in, sits Mikasa, eyes trained forwards, clever fingers diligently attaching various pieces together. Her movements are swift and controlled, never once idling in reconsideration, as she picks up one part after another. With her precision, she could probably assemble the whole thing, blind-folded.

And as he watches her hands cradle one of the blades, Bertholdt holds no doubt that she could use it to lop his head off, just as easily…

Each foot has to be dragged in her direction, and forcing himself to sit down in front of her, is just as painful. Her focus remains firm on her work, even after he’s seated. It’s a small blessing Bertholdt is thankful for considering he would have fled the moment they made eye contact.

… Yet somehow, a very small part of him feels affronted by her blatant indifference towards his presence.

Not trusting his voice just yet, Bertholdt clears his throat.

Mikasa retrieves a small screwdriver.

“E—excuse me.”

“What.”

Jumping straight to it then.

Bertholdt does a quick mental run through his speech, constructed the night before. And another time, for good measure.

“About Eren…” he begins.

Mikasa fixes him with a cold stare, and his throat closes.

“Do y—you think… you think…” Bertholdt clears his throat. “You can get him… t—to leave Reiner and me…” he wheezes the last word out, “… alone?”

Hours of preparation. Wasted.

Mikasa’s eyes narrow. Slim but callous fingers begin to twirl the screwdriver in hand, not unlike a cat’s tail twitching before it pounces.

Unthinkingly, Bertholdt lifts his hands in surrender.

“D—don’t get me wrong. Eren’s… _great_ ,” he forces the word out, “but you don’t seem to—I mean, Armin told me—“

“What did Armin tell you?”

The words sound more like a challenge than a genuine inquiry.

“I—I mean that well, what Armin said—in, uhh, not so many words—that’s not important—“ Bertholdt tries to refocus. “My point is that you d—don’t seem to like Eren hanging out with us, and I rather me and Reiner not…” _die an early death_ , “fi—fight with you any further about something we can both agree on—“

A hand slaps in the space between them, not quite loud enough to garner their classmates’ attention but enough to startle Bertholdt into silence. Mikasa lifts, leaning her weight on to the settled hand and directly into Bertholdt’s space. Her expression is uncomfortably vacant, and though her posture remains loose, Bertholdt knows one wrong word could easily leave him choking on his own teeth.

“Didn’t you just say earlier how ' _great'_ Eren was?” She mocks.

Bertholdt swallows and weighs his chances of reaching the nearest exit before Mikasa caught him.

“That wasn’t—I meant no—“

Sweat began to prickle along the back of Bertholdt’s neck as he fumbles for a reply. Clearly, his plan of enlisting Mikasa’s cooperation in getting Eren off their backs was _not_ going to work.

‘Think Bertholdt, what did Armin say?’ something about feeling ashamed because she couldn’t protect Eren?’

“I know you’re pissed that we found Eren, before you did!” He blurts.

Mikasa’s eyes widen at the proclamation, before shifting into something murderous. Shit, shit, if he didn’t keep talking, she was going to kill him, witnesses be damned.

“I get it!” He continues, voice becoming embarrassingly high. “B—believe me, I do. I can—I can only imagine how much it must feel to work so hard for something, and then have someone make it suddenly mean nothing—“

Bertholdt’s hands wring together.

“But this—this grudge you have against me? Against R—Reiner? It’s pointless!”

Whatever he said seemed to be working given that Mikasa hadn’t flayed him yet. In fact, it seemed like his words were reaching her.

“Reiner—only, did what he thought was right. He saw someone in trouble and knew he had to help… not because he was trying to humiliate you—“

As Bertholdt spoke, he found strength in speaking about Reiner. Even as kids, before this whole shit-fest that became known as their lives happened, Reiner had a strong sense of morality and empathy. He was always the first to spring to a stranger’s defense, without any ulterior motives beyond enforcing common decency. That was what, and had always, made him so well-liked.

“Reiner did what any good person in his position, would do,” Bertholdt explains, before forcing himself to meet Mikasa’s eyes. “Wouldn’t have Eren done the same?”

Something about Bertholdt’s final statement causes all aggression to melt from Mikasa. Suddenly she looks painfully young, lost even, and Bertholdt is half-afraid for a moment that her anger will return, tenfold its initial amount. Instead, her fingers reach up to curl around the fabric of her scarf, eyes distant. She is silent for a long while before she focuses her attention on him again.

Bertholdt tries very hard not to squirm under her scrutiny.

“Okay.”

...

…

Um?

“Um—“ he begins.

Mikasa continues before he can finish.

“I will...” She pauses. “Cease my behavior towards you and Reiner.”

The lower half of her mouth ducks behind her scarf, and for a moment, Bertholdt doesn't understand the action until he realizes, of all things, she seems embarrassed.

“I'm... I apologize for my previous actions.”

Bertholdt barely refrains from gaping.

Did that just happened?

“I— okay,” he responds, dazed.

Mikasa regards him with an unreadable look before nodding only once, and returning back to her work

 

////////////////////////

 

It has been two weeks since he reached an agreement with Mikasa.

It has been two weeks and Reiner still wasn’t talking to him.

Don’t get him wrong. It wasn’t as though Bertholdt expected Reiner to come skidding back, declaring he would heed his advice from there on out. Though he had hoped for some acknowledgement for putting his neck on the line to ensure their, however hypothetical, safety.

But Reiner still spent his meals with his new group of friends. And Bertholdt still sat alone.

‘Make peace with Mikasa,’ his brain taunts.

Fixing things with her was supposed to patch things up with Reiner.

So why the hell was he still getting the cold shoulder?

And, as if to rub salt into the wound, the only one who seemed to appreciate his efforts was the last person he wanted.

“Thanks for talking to Mikasa.”

Bertholdt makes for a direction, hoping to feign ignorance and that he hadn’t heard Eren at all.

Of course, Eren ducks in front of him, effectively blocking his path.

“Really, I’m grateful,” he continues without missing a beat. As though Bertholdt hadn’t obviously tried to ditch him.

“Look,” Eren begins, before Bertholdt can speak. “I get that it probably wasn’t easy. Talking to her, I mean. Mikasa isn’t exactly the most… approachable type. But believe me when I say she didn’t do, uh, what she did for purely antagonistic reasons…”

Eren forces their eyes to meet. “I’m one of the few family she has left… and I know she’s only looking out for me, but sometimes she takes things too far.” He snorts. “Of course, she’s not going to consider my input, soo… thanks. Again. For talking to her.”

Despite the attempt to maintain composure, Bertholdt could tell Eren was measuring each word carefully. He was making a genuine attempt to make amends. It was almost touching.

He really didn’t give a shit.

Eyes pointedly flickering away, Bertholdt says, “I have a class I need to get to.”

“Your next one doesn’t start for another half hour.”

Bertholdt makes a face. How the hell did Eren know his schedule?

Eren shrugs.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’re the one that’s been avoiding me. I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“By stalking me,” Bertholdt states.

Eren simply shoves his hands into his pockets.

“’Stalking’ would mean being attached to your ass, twenty-four-seven. I just asked around to see when you were free.”

This kid was relentless.

Bertholdt once again tries to side-step him.

Eren matches his movements.

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

Annoyance flashes through green eyes.

“Why not?”

Bertholdt feels his lips thin.

“I don’t need to give you a reason.”

“Seriously?” Eren suddenly snaps. “How the hell are you worse than Jean?”

“You ever think that Jean might be on to something?” Bertholdt snaps back.

Even though Eren already knew the facade Bertholdt put up was a load of crap, a part of him still cringed every time he submitted to these arguments. He couldn’t understand why they always left him feeling exposed. Vulnerable. Like he was losing every time he pushed back.

“God damn it—I’m not asking for an arm or leg here . I just want to—“

“I don’t care what you want!”

“But Mikasa—“

He’s doing it again. Of course.

“That was not for you.” Bertholdt hisses through clenched teeth. “Do you honestly think everything revolves around you? That you’re the center of everything?”

“What? No—“

“Then stop assuming I owe you my time!”

Bertholdt swiftly steps around the other teen again, only pausing to give a firm shake to rid the hand that attempted to grasp his arm.

 

////////////////////////

 

The day Commander Shadis announced their final assignment was the day Bertholdt concluded some higher entity hated him.

It also dawned, not long after, how reoccurring that thought actually was.

Reiner still wasn’t talking to him, dodging every conversation attempt with such persistency that would have impressed Bertholdt, if it wasn’t simultaneously pissing. Him. Off.

And as an added bonus, Eren, for some bizarre reason, has resumed his previous stalking, with a newfound vigor now that Mikasa wasn’t there to police him.

It goes without saying that Bertholdt’s life really sucked at the moment.

And as he entered his final class, he was going to learn it was about to get worse.

Bertholdt makes a beeline for the seat next Jean, a tactic he previously discovered most effective at keeping Eren at bay.

Jean caught on fairly quick, of course. But he only shot a disinterest stare at most, keeping all questions to himself.

Until today.

“So. Why does Eren keep staring at you, like Sasha with somebody’s leftovers?”

Bertholdt hopes his expression showed he did not care for the comparison.

“I don’t know.”

“Sure about that?”

The tone oozes his obvious disbelief.

Bertholdt forgoes answering.

“Whatever,” Jean says, leaning back in his chair. “Some advice. That prick can be stubborn as fuck. Whatever he wants, he’s not going to back down easily.”

As if that was news to him.

“Everyone sit down and shut up!”

Even after all these months, Shadis still scared the shit out of Bertholdt, a sentiment well-shared among his classmates. It only takes the instructor that one sharp command to send students skittering for their seats. Two subordinates trail closely behind; one carrying a hefty stack of papers, and the other making a beeline towards the chalkboard.

Once attention is on him, Shadis speaks.

“Today you will receive your last assignment for this year. As many of you already know, anyone who fails will automatically be booted from camp, so for those who want to move on, listen closely or haul your sorry asses out of here, now!”

Shadis, contrary to his former statement, glares out at the students as though challenging any of them to stand up.

“This assignment requires you to travel through the mountains from point A to point B, utilizing the skills you obtained over the semester. You will be assigned in groups of five and have four days to complete this task. Failure to reach point B will lead to automatic expulsion. Trying to assists other groups will also lead to expulsion.”

Behind him, one of the subordinates lists the instructions on the chalkboard.

“The purpose of this exercise is to demonstrate your abilities to cooperate as team. Most of you may think you stand a chance against titans but I’m going to tell you for a fact that more than half of you will likely piss yourselves, beforehand. Efficient teamwork is key to getting anything done and living to see another day.”

The other subordinate moves to hand Shadis a clipboard.

“I will now assign you to your groups, and you _will not_ throw a fit about who’s in them.”

Any other class and the students would be groaning. No one dares breathe a sigh.

Shadis looks down at his papers.

“Group one...”

“Hey Bert, how good do you think my chances are of getting grouped with Mikasa?”

Bertholdt refrains making a face at Jean’s casual use of his nickname.

“I don’t know.”

“I mean, if Shadis is only assigning groups with the people in this class, that’s like… fifty people,” Jean begins to count his fingers. “And if there’s five per group…”

Bertholdt tunes him out.

Quietly, Bertholdt entertains the possibility of getting grouped with Reiner. He would be away from falling behind the safety of his crew. It would be the perfect opportunity to talk to him one-on-one.

“Group three…”

Reiner would have no choice but interact with him, less he wanted to draw suspicion.

“Group five…”

And maybe, _just maybe_ , Bertholdt would finally be able to get through to him.

“Group eight. Armin Arlert, Mina Caroline, Jean Kirchenstein, Annie Leonhart and Connie Springer.”

Next to him, Jean releases a sigh.

Bertholdt could feel his heart thumping. There were only two groups left. Their names haven’t been called yet—

“Group nine. Daz Abbot, Sasha Braus, Bertholdt Fubar, Krista Lenz and Eren Yeager.”

…

This had to be some joke.

Next to him Jean visibly winces.

“Godspeed,” he mutters at Bertholdt.

 

////////////////////////

 

Bertholdt spends the next few days speculating what he exactly did to piss the instructors because there was no way their group assignment was not deliberate.

Because while being in the same group as Eren guaranteed his experience was going to _suck_ no matter what, Bertholdt didn’t find the rest of his team promising.

Sasha, despite possessing the most survival skills and finely tuned instincts out of all their comrades, had a reputation for not faring well in organized operations. She was the type to do her own thing, and that usually meant swiping all the bread rolls while all backs were turned.

For Krista, it was the complete opposite. She was a team player; polite, obedient and eager to please. But not nearly as talented of a mediator she believed to be. And while Bertholdt held no vendetta against her, she wasn’t exactly his first pick as their group leader. Or even among the top ten.

And Daz.

No one wanted to be grouped with Daz, period.

But Bertholdt had hope. He’s suffered worse and managed to survive those experiences both physically and mentally unscathed. Four days in the woods was nothing.

So as his group went over their assignment one final time before heading out, he promised to approach the assignment _slightly_ optimistic.

“Bertholdt,” Eren catches the back of Bertholdt’s jacket in an iron grip, forcing him to a halt. “Look, I get you hate my guts or whatever but let’s at least try to work together these next couple of days, yeah?”

Bertholdt makes sure his jacket free before replying.

“Think you can keep your tantrums in check, in the mean time?”

Watching Eren’s eyes flare, a hissed ‘fucking prick’ spat in his direction, is oddly heart-warming and unfortunately the only victory Bertholdt finds that day.

Bertholdt wasn’t sure whose brilliant idea it was to assign Daz supply check; probably some consensus during their division of work that Daz couldn’t possibly screw up something as simple as this, when they should have known that _yes, it was not only highly likely but guaranteed that_ Daz would screw up something as simple as this.

Several hours in, filled with Krista’s hesitant navigation leading them around a hill before Sasha pointed out they passed that boulder three times already, they discover Daz had forgotten to pack their map.

And that was fine. Inconvenient but not the end of the world. They all studied the map in detail beforehand and did their best to utilize the combined information. Not ideal but better than nothing.

Then came the rain.

A heavy, miserable mess, that robbed their vision and turned the ground to mush sending them all face-planting into the mud more times than he care to count.

And while most tried to laugh it off, there was only so much mud one could accumulate before complaints soon followed, along with demands to find shelter.

… Which would have happened, had Eren not been so insistent on reaching their destination first. Every time Bertholdt thinks Eren couldn’t possibly be more arrogant, the other proves him wrong; an observation Bertholdt feels no regret revealing.

Consequently a screaming match ensues – because given their luck _why the hell not_ – and it was only because the thunder engulfed his voice that Eren won that fight. Bullying the rest of their weary group into compliances follows easily.

As Bertholdt peeled his face from the mud, having slipped for the tenth time that day, he wonders how hard it would be to hide a body in the forest.

By the time the sun began to set (mercifully taking the storm with it), everyone’s patience were stretched so thin that the discovery that they were more lost than before, should have only been expected to set them off.

It takes Krista twenty minutes to calm everyone down.

Eventually they reach an agreement to go about their separate tasks and get the camp ready. Sasha leaves to find food while Krista and Daz prep the firewood, leaving Bertholdt and Eren to pitch the tents.

Bertholdt tries to ignore the unhelpful ache inside his stomach reminding him that his last meal was at least ten hours ago, and focus on completely a particularly difficult knot. It takes him far longer given the mud caked on his fingers, and at this point, Bertholdt considers succumbing to temptation and passing out in the dirt.

“Cover more ground, my ass… we all know you were after bragging rights…”

He sighs in relief after finally completing the girl’s tent, an emotion short-lived when he glances over to check on Eren’s progress.

“You did it wrong.”

Eren looks up. “What? No I didn’t—“

“Yes. You did.” Bertholdt stalks over. “You mixed these ropes up.”

“It’s still standing. Who gives a shit?”

“If another storm hits, that tent is going to collapse on itself,” he snaps.

Kneeling down, Bertholdt starts to work one of the knots loose, until a hand smacks his away.

“It’s fine! For the love of—I actually want to sleep at some point! Stop nitpicking at my work!”

Some small part told him to let this go. That he already caused more suspicion today than he collectively has over the past year. Bertholdt tells that part to piss off.

“I wouldn’t care if I wasn’t sleeping the same damn tent!”

His shout drew Krista and Daz’s attention. Bertholdt couldn’t bring himself to care. Let them see. He was too busy matching Eren’s glare, seeing which of them could cause the other to spontaneously combust through eye contact alone.

“Know what? _Fine_ ,” Eren flings the hammer at Bertholdt’s feet nearly breaking all his toes. “You fix it then. Have fun, shithead.”

With that, Eren storms off. Bertholdt barely refrains throwing the hammer at his head, instead gritting his teeth and sharply working one of the knots loose. Easier said than done. They might as well be the work of a five year old.

It takes Bertholdt a long time and somehow his efforts turn the previous mess into an even bigger one. Why did Eren use so much rope? How did most it end up around his arms? Bertholdt was on the verge of losing his god damn mind.

Distantly, Bertholdt realizes word of his outburst(s) would probably make their way back to Reiner and, knowing him, he’d use it as an excuse to continue his silent treatment. Some voice, not unlike his old instructor, reprimands him for his idiocy. Again, he tells it to piss off.

“Damn it!”

Bertholdt yanks at the tangle clump and only accomplishes in digging the ropes further into his skin.

Behind him, he hears soft footsteps, and knowing that Daz perpetually shuffles his feet like he’s traveling across ice and Eren overcompensates his size by stomping around like an angry bear, he deduces the steps as Krista’s.

“Bertholdt?”

“Yes?” He says, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended.

“Sasha should be back soon… and you’ve been at this for the last twenty minutes… do you need any—“

Her voice trails off.

Bertholdt peeks over his shoulder. Her face has lost all color.

“What’s wrong—?”

“Bertholdt.” Her voice cuts despite being a hush whisper. “Don’t. Move.”

Bertholdt obeys, feeling his stomach give an uncomfortable lurch at the command. Goosebumps prickle his skin as he slowly follows her sight.

_Shit._

“Hey we got the fire going. When’s Sasha coming back with din—fucking hell!” Eren squawks, springing back. Next to him Daz lets out a shriek.

“SNAKE!”

Rattlesnake to be specific.

Either way, less than four feet sits one of the biggest rattlesnakes Bertholdt has ever seen, beady eyes fixated on him with what he can only assume as ill-intent. It’s like the damn thing knows the moment he notices it, because its tail soon begins to vibrate, filling the silence with an ominous rattle.

And while Bertholdt knows his titan abilities make him more resilient than the average human, _poison_ was an area rarely explored. What could he say? Not many of the few shifters before him were excited by the prospect of poisoning themselves in the name of science, so like limb loss, it was just kind of a phenomenon left to be discover by some unlucky individual.

Today, it seemed like that individual was going to be him.

“Bertholdt,” Krista calls in a low tone. “Try to move away… slowly…”

He swallows thickly.

“R—right.”

With all the caution he could muster, Bertholdt lifts himself into a crouch, eyes trained anxiously forward. He tries to hobble back—

\-- until his wrists catches, reminding him of the jumbled mess still attached to his forearms.

Panic grips him.

“Oh god. Oh my god—“ he whines, trying to dislodge his wrist, and when that fails, the entire tent itself because _like hell_ he was going to die today. His muscle strain, despite his frenzy but no matter how hard he tugs, the nail remains stubbornly lodged into the earth.

In the small corner of Bertholdt’s brain not currently overridden with panic, Bertholdt retracts every declaration of hate he’s ever verbally or mentally made towards Eren because this, _THIS_ , was the exact moment Eren could go fuck himself.

“What are you doing?” Eren hisses. “Move, already!”

“I can’t! I’m trapped because of your stupid knots!” Bertholdt snaps, voice just shy of screeching.

_“Are you kidding me?”_

_“Do I look like it?”_

Before and argument can break out, Krista steps between them.

“You both need to calm down!”

“I AM CALM! Just—shit, okay—don’t move—you shut up !” Eren says when Bertholdt starts to open his mouth. “I’ll just come over—“

At Eren’s abrupt approach, the snake bares its fangs.

“No! No, no, no, no— stay where you are!” Bertholdt says, scrambling as far back as his wrists would allow. “You’re just agitating it!”

“I’m not—I didn’t mean—if you would just—“

“Bertholdt, just r—remain calm…” Krista’s tries to soothe, a feat that proves counterproductive given the scared waver that grips her tone. Behind her, Daz is on the verge of hyperventilation.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, that snake is going to attack Bertholdt and then it will come after us and eat our eyeballs—“

“SHUT UP!” Bertholdt and Eren snap

“Eren! Don’t yell at him!”

“He needs to stop freaking out! “

“We’re all going to die in this forest and no one will find our bodies—“

“Enough already!”

“Eren!”

“Not now! Bertholdt! Just let me help you!”

“HOW?”

“Shit, I don’t know, I’ll find a stick or something—“

“ _Find a stick_? To what? Shout bad ideas at it? No! If that’s the best you can come up with, you don’t get to help!”

“Stop being an ass!”

“I’m not being an ass! All I’m trying to do is just not get BIT!”

“Everyone! Calm down!”

“I don’t want my eyeballs eaten!”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Everyone quiets.

Nearby Sasha hovers hesitantly, small bundle in hand.

“Sasha!” Krista is the first to speak. “When did you--?”

“Just now,” Sasha says. “I, uhh, caught three rabbits and found some roots. Should combine nicely into a stew. What’s everyone screaming about?”

Before anyone can utter a word, Daz screeches, “Snake!”

Bertholdt watches as her hesitation disappears, replaced by something disturbingly eager.

“Really? No joke? I mean, snake meat isn’t my favorite, but _god_ the texture… is it big? Where is it?”

The sudden realization that none of them were keeping tabs on the snake’s location hits them, and their heads swerve around.

“It’s g—gone…” Krista breathes.

At the proclamation, Sasha’s expression falls.

“What? Are you kidding me? I had to hunt for food when we had a meal right here? Figures…” She grumbles under her breath, before sighing. “Might as well get these prepped.”

With that final statement, Sasha ambles back to the fire.

For a moment, no one does anything; at least until Bertholdt’s exhaustion strikes and he topples over, squashing part of his face in the dirt.

“Bertholdt—?” Eren starts.

“Stop. Just... just find me a knife or something, already.”

Fortunately Eren doesn’t give him lip, instead nodding dumbly and following after Sasha.

For a moment, neither he nor his other two team members say anything.

“I—I don’t want to sleep here tonight…” Daz says.

 

////////////////////////

 

The next morning, things run more smoothly. Despite the fact that Eren literally dragged them through hell, and that they uprooted their camp to find a new area, they’ve made good distance, giving them extra time to collect their bearings.

Breakfast is another helping of rabbit stew, now stringy and bland, but enough to stave off the hunger. Throughout the meal, Sasha bemoans over the loss of snake meat, and Bertholdt can feel himself becoming more and more nauseous, as she goes into long descriptions about various dishes. It’s only through Krista’s scolding that he doesn’t forgo eating, entirely.

There’s a moment where he get into another spat with Eren about their next route of travel, but Krista quickly intervenes, perhaps recognizing her previous error of not stepping in earlier, yesterday.

All in all, things were as peaceful as things could get.

Which made now seemed like an ideal time to slip away, given the likelihood that some future event was coming to disrupt it.

You know. Track record and all.

“I’m going to fill our canteens before we leave,” Bertholdt announces.

Eren gets up as well. “I’ll help.”

Fucker.

Possibly foreseeing the future train-wreck, Krista also stands, mouth halfway open until Daz’s sharp yelp captures her attention. Probably for the best. As much as Bertholdt applaud her dedication for keep the peace, he knew he only backed down because he got tired of hearing her laments of _needing to work together_ and _we shouldn’t argue amongst one another_. Any fight left in him was gone now anyway. He doubted one trip to the river would result in anything eventful.

Still, he wasn’t stupid enough to assume Eren hadn’t followed him without some underlying agenda.

“Bertholdt.”

“No.”

“Fucking— _Bertholdt_. Would you just—“

“I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

A loud smack echoed among the trees.”

“FU—“ Bertholdt squawks as the offending canteen rolls away. He swerves to glare at Eren, hand clutching the back of his throbbing head. “WHAT THE HELL?”

Eren’s face contorts viscously. “NO! Screw you! The only way I can get your attention apparently is when I’m fucking yelling at you, so just— _just_ —“

Eren halts and sucks in a deep breath.

“Give me five minutes to explain myself. Please. Five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

Bertholdt’s lips thin. Never in his life has he met anyone he loathed, than at that moment.

But he doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t move, storm back to camp, throwing over his shoulder that Eren can take his precious five minutes and—

Seeing Bertholdt’s silence as the closest thing to he was going to get to compliance, Eren continues “I— okay. About what happened earlier with the snake? And everything before that? I—shit, why is this so hard?” The teen fidget and runs a hand through his hair, making the strands more wild than usual.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry!” He blurts out.

Bertholdt watched a bead of sweat trickle down the side of Eren’s head, the red in his cheeks almost reaching to the tip of his ears. His eyes were wide, mouth twisted in a crooked line. Clearly this apology pained him, and with that, made his intentions all the more sincere. He really was trying to make things right.

Bertholdt was not moved.

After a moment of waiting for some response, Eren begins to grind his teeth.

“I know,“ he begins, gums exposed, “that I said some… seriously shitty things earlier… And it was uncalled for….”

Pain still pulsing through his head, Bertholdt glowers.

“Uncalled for,” he mocks, “is putting it _lightly_.”

Eren seethes, like he’s ready to punch him, and at this point, Bertholdt would welcome it, wholeheartedly. But through some impressive amount of self-restraint, Eren continues.

“I shouldn’t have thrown a canteen at your head,” he says. “ _I’m sorry_.”

The words are venomous, and he and Eren share a look of open distaste.

Bertholdt suppose if her were a pettier person, he’d be relishing every second of this. It wasn’t often that Eren Yeager admitted he was wrong, let alone apologized for it. The best most people got out of him was begrudging excuse. A clear indicator that while he felt remorse that their argument had escalated, he still believed he was ultimately right. This right here should have been a _fucking_ gift.

Yet the only thing Bertholdt felt at that moment was irritation, because honestly how was it any different? Eren didn’t care. All he wanted was to stop feeling guilty. So he offers a minor appeasement, something to satisfy Bertholdt and ease his conscience over his ridiculous outburst. Like a damn spoiled child.

His mouth forms into a cold smile. It wasn’t like he needed to maintain pretenses anymore.

“Sorry? You’re _sorry_? Sorry doesn’t change the fact you just chucked a canteen at my head. Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I nearly got bitten by a snake. Sorry doesn’t change the fact that you dragged your whole team through a storm where we could have easily marched off a cliff. Or lost our grip while climbing. Or, you know, possibly get hit by lightning. But none of that matters, right? Because you’re _sorry_. And being sorry removes all accountability .”

Bertholdt expects anger. Denial. Even for Eren to just sputter and storm off entirely. What he doesn’t expect is for Eren’s aggression to abruptly disappear.

“No… no, I guess it doesn’t…” Eren huffs out a short laugh. “Shit—you’re right. Again…”

Bertholdt slumps fight now gone.

“Excuse me?”

Eren shifts from foot to foot, looking very small.

“I said ‘you’re right’. Sorry isn’t going to cut it, err, sorries, I guess.” Eren’s eyes trail off. “I do mean it though. All of it. I shouldn’t have riled you up earlier. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you back in the stock room. I guess, maybe… I should have just-- backed off, altogether… “

Bertholdt wants that snide part of him to laugh at all of this. To laugh at Eren’s hesitancy. To laugh in his face and ridicule him. If only because this entire exchange was so incredibly awkward and foreign, that if putting an end to it meant like acting like a complete asshole, so be it.

But something stops him. He doesn’t know what, and even later on, never will. He stays quiet, listens instead… despite every instinct screaming that going down this route would only end badly.

Eren laughs. It sounds wounded. “You’re not the first person to call me a stupid, weak kid, you know. Hannes… Hannes said something similar after we failed to— after we couldn’t save—“

Eren’s mouths snaps shut, his form beginning to shake, and at that moment, Bertholdt suddenly understands him. All his actions. All his speeches. Every single part about Eren that previously irritated him abruptly makes sense.

_He lost someone that day._

For one horrifying moment, Bertholdt thinks Eren is about to burst into tears until he meets his eyes. Instead of sorrow, Bertholdt sees fierce intent. A fire that makes him want to both recoil and draw closer, even at the threat of getting burned.

“I don’t want anything like that ever happening again.”

Just as quickly, the look disappears and Eren becomes pensive again.

“I think-- at the time, I was trying to force that idea on to you… that’s why I got so angry. I— I assume something like this was what everyone wanted, but… it’s not always that simple and I never tried to understand why. For that, I’m sorry.”

Bertholdt swallows.

This wasn’t how their exchange was supposed to go. Eren was supposed to be a selfish. Conceited. Cruel. An embodiment of every terrible thing inside the wall; he had no right to be like this. To feel remorse, to convey this level of self-awareness, to incite sympathy--

_Something like this was not meant to be shared with someone like him_

Eren was still waiting.

Bertholdt was at a loss.

“I’m… also sorry for my behavior these last couple of weeks…” He finally offers. “It was… unnecessary.” Surprised to find he means it.

Bertholdt doesn’t understand why he holds his breath, or even the rush of relief when Eren’s mouth quirks into a smile.

“Sure. Water under the bridge. Sorry for being a dick to you too.”

“Yeah. Same.”

Eleven months’ worth of disagreements… settled. Just like that.

They stand, awkward, lost on how to proceed. Though the air between them now carries less hostility.

Eren’s smile soon slips, teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“Look—and I’m not trying to make excuses here—but believe me when I say it honestly wasn’t my intention to make your life a living hell these past months.”

Eren picks at a scab on his knuckles.

“I know I’ve… hassled you a lot these past couple of months, but all of that—I just did it because… because I really wanted to get to know you,” he winces, “Wow Eren, way to make that sound not creepy. What I mean is that you’re always so quiet—I’m lucky to get two sentences from you on a good day—and Reiner talks about you so often—“

Bertholdt does a double take.

“He does?” He… he was worried Reiner had completely forgotten about him…

Eren nods. “Yeah. About how you’re always hovering over him, telling him to stay out of trouble, fussing over him like you’re his mom or something—“

Bertholdt makes a face.

‘Ass,’ he thinks.

“But that he also appreciates you looking out for him,” Eren amends, expression becoming sheepish. “Honestly, it kind of reminds me with my friends.”

Bertholdt reflects on that. The fact that Reiner was one of the few people Bertholdt had left in this world? Someone he could fully place his trust in? Yeah, he could certainly relate.

“Do you think we can start over?”

The question throws him.

“Start over?” Bertholdt echoes.

“Yeah. Just, forget all the stuff that happened and be, you know, friends?”

It’s such a small request and at the same time not. Because it’s this exact scenario Bertholdt has been trying to avoid these last twelve months. And now here it was; right in front of him, all fluff and pretenses now gone. A direct request for something Franz specifically instructed never to accept, let alone offer.

_You need to listen to me very carefully, Bertholdt. During your mission, you are going to meet a lot of people. Many who are ignorant of the past pain their ancestors have inflicted. They may seem kind. Perhaps they are. But in the end, when push comes to shove, they will always choose their own. Remember this. Because that’s how you will survive and one day, be able to return home._

Had you asked if Bertholdt in the beginning if he would be able to maintain his distance, he would have answered affirmatively.

But now…

Now he was just so tired…

When was the last time he had a friend, besides Reiner or Berik?

Bertholdt must have been quiet for an awfully long time because soon Eren shifts from foot to foot.

“Or not. That’s fine too, I guess,” he mutters, looking at everything but him. “I’m just gonna—head back—“

“Wait!” Bertholdt says, despite his mind still reeling. “I… I like that.”

Eren halts, now looking stunned.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Bertholdt’s surprised by how easily the answer slips from him, “let’s… let’s be friends.”

Eren blinks before beaming at the response. Instead of the usual nausea that accompanies from Eren’s open sincerity, something inside Bertholdt… eases.

After a moment, Eren eyes shift and he clears his throat. He gestures toward the canteens.

“We should finish up. Krista’s probably worried we killed each other.”

At the comment, Bertholdt only shrugs.

“She most likely preoccupied with Daz. Knowing him, he probably sat down in the fire.”

Bertholdt startles at the sudden and loud laugh that erupts from Eren

“Shit man, have you always secretly been an asshole?” He asks.

To his immense alarm, Bertholdt feels his face heating.

“I—what—? No—NO!”

Eren slaps a hand against Bertholdt’s back, making no attempts to hide his snickering.

“Relax, your secret is safe with me—“

Bertholdt sputters indignantly – which to his dismay, sends Eren into another fit of laughter – before storming off to the river. He scoops up a nearby canteen, uncaps it and begins filling it with water, muttering. He already regretted this newfound friendship.

A warm presence soon appears at his side.

“Aw Bertholdt, don’t be mad.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Come ooonnnnn. Beeerrrtttt.”

“Don’t call me that. And stop hovering, we’re going to—“

True to his prediction, Eren leans in and they both tumble into the river.

Drenched to the bone, Bertholdt stares at Eren, water dripping from his hair.

"You ruin my life."

Eren returns the look, evenly.

"You make it too damn easy."

Fighting back every urge to smile proves to be a futile attempt, because the grin Bertholdt receives tells him that he failed horribly.

 

////////////////////////

 

The rest of their mission goes smoothly after that. Upon their return to the camp, he and Eren receive baffled looks, both at their drenched forms and newfound civility. Thankfully, none of their comrades comment, perhaps fearing one wrong word would unravel their unexplainable truce.

In the end, their team places third. And while it’s not the outcome Eren hoped for, they still completed their assignment with more than half a day to spare, earning them favorable marks.

Things are still awkward between him and Eren after they return back to the base, but they part on encouraging terms, a tentative promise to hang out sometime over their short break. Even now, Bertholdt finds the transformation of their relationship surreal, but given the positivity of the circumstances, he chooses not dwell on it.

For once, he just wanted to take a good thing for what it was.

And maybe, after all the bullshit he’s endured, that was all the universe wanted him to do. To get his head out of his ass and just recognize Eren wasn’t as bad as he initially made him out to be.

Especially considering, it’s only a few days later that Reiner approaches him.

Bertholdt doesn’t notice him at first, too busy battling with a particularly stubborn grease stain in one of the pots, until Reiner’s but a hair away from his side.

“Msry…”

“What?” Bertholdt asks looking up from the pot he was previously scrubbing.

“I’m sorry…” Reiner whispers, after casting a glance at the other occupants in the kitchen, assuring they were all preoccupied. “For how I treated you this last month. I… I really messed up.”

Bertholdt regards his hunched form for a brief moment before returning back to the pot.

“Yeah. You kind of did.”

Reiner winces.

“Sorry—“

“It’s fine.”

Reiner head snaps in his direction. “What? How are you okay with this?”

Bertholdt carefully considers the question before shrugging.

“You’re all I have,” he says. “And because you’re my friend.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I was a complete dick to you!”

“Sure. But you wouldn’t be here unless something happened that made you realize that.”

Reiner stares, disbelieving. Until finally he mutters under his breath, “It always weirds me out when you do that.”

“We only have half an hour before we head to the barracks,” Bertholdt prompts, not unkindly, “More talking or we’ll have to find some other time.”

For a moment, Reiner says nothing. He breathes slowly. Once. Twice.

“I— I nearly forgot I was a warrior…”

Bertholdt takes the admission in stride. Better than he expected of himself actually. Because he knew, deep down, that Reiner had to first come to terms, before the issue could be properly handled. Still, to have Reiner actually acknowledge it so openly… it made what he was going through – the danger accompanying it – all that more real.

“What happened?”

Carefully he keeps his eyes train forward. Next to him, Reiner sighs.

“It happened during the last exam. We were settling down for the night. Our group stayed up to chat for a while longer. We got into talking about our families. Connie’s mom… Mina’s three sisters…” He explains. “They… they started asking about my own. I said I didn’t have any, lost them while I was young, barely knew them…”

Bertholdt’s eyebrows furrow. He didn’t understand. It seemed like Reiner had stuck to the backstory they created.

“I started crying. Right when I mentioned that last part.”

His eyes widen. Why would he… oh. Oh.

Bertholdt swallows thickly. Of course. They were approaching the anniversary of her death; he completely forgotten. No wonder Reiner had reacted so badly at the inquiry.

“Because you were thinking of Agnes?”

The answer isn’t immediate.

“That’s the thing… no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember her. I just… felt this huge pain in my chest and I… I couldn’t figure out why.”

The heart of Reiner’s concern finally clicks. For him to forget _her_ of all people—

Fuck, he hadn’t realized it was this bad.

Bertholdt feels the scrubber in his hand shake, until he forces it still. Reiner needed him. He couldn’t afford to get wrapped up in his own doubts.

“What happened after?”

“Nothing… thank god,” Reiner murmurs, “I think the other just assumed I tried to play off telling about my family and failed. They probably just think it’s a touchy topic.”

A tension inside Bertholdt releases at that. Things could have been a lot worse.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out,” Bertholdt says, trying to convey more assurance than he honestly felt. “Just… try to be careful from here on out. If you need to bail, use me as an excuse. Or if I’m nearby, try to catch my attention. I’ll help.”

Neither of them speak. Finally, Reiner’s hands tighten, eyes becoming almost unseeing.

“Why… why is this happening to me?”

Bertholdt considers his answers. Nothing proves sufficient.

“I don’t know…” he finally says.

“What if I… what if I forget and reveal—?”

“I won’t let it happen.”

Reiner scoffs, “You can’t be sure of that.”

Bertholdt thinks back to the first month after they infiltrated the wall. Things seemed just as hopeless then. But in the end they both got through it. He made sure of it.

“I am,” Bertholdt says with slightly more conviction. “Because I have your back. Just like you have mine.”

Reiner doesn’t look entirely convinced but all the same, he allows a small smile to crack across his face.

“Gross.”

“What are you, five?”

“So… you honestly forgive me?”

Bertholdt snorts.

“You still ignored me for the past month,” he says. “I’ll get over it but for now, give it time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bertholdt sees Reiner’s hesitating.

“I… I swear I’ll make it up to you. I won’t pull that same shit again.”

The sincerity is oddly heartwarming.

“I know,” he says gently. “It’s okay Reiner.”

They resume their work.

 

////////////////////////

 

“Bertholdt, wake up.”

The voice tugs him from the thick of sleep. Bertholdt curses its owner with every fiber of his being.

“Hey Bert.”

He keeps his eyes firmly close. Maybe he would just go away…

“I know you’re awake. You snore while you sleep.”

“And just how would you know that?” Bertholdt finally slurs. “Indulging in bad habits again, weirdo?”

“Like I would need to; we’re lucky to get a couple hours with the racket you make.”

Bertholdt sucks in a long breath before forcing an eyelid open. The sensation is like peeling glue.

“What.”

Eren’s mouth stretches.

Bertholdt doesn’t trust that smile for a second.

“We’re going to do some extra training.”

“We’re on break.”

“Doesn’t mean we should slack off.”

“What happened to not pushing your ideas on to people?”

“Come on,” Eren drawls, still grinning. “It’s not like I’m asking you to jump into the waiting mouth of a titan .”

“I rather take the titan.”

“So dramatic.”

Bertholdt rolls, turning his back towards Eren.

“Get Armin. Or Mikasa. Let me sleep.”

“No. I want to hang out with you.”

Bertholdt ignores the warmth that fills his chest at the comment.

“Plus they would both kill me if I tried dragging them along at this hour.”

Awful. This guy was just completely awful.

Bertholdt stays quiet, allowing the stretch of silence to communicate his response. He groans when he feels a hand push at his back.

“It’ll be fun. Trust me.”

“I highly doubt—“

“FOR FUCK SAKES, IF YOU TWO ARE GOING TO SQUABBLE, DO IT OUTSIDE,” Reiner shouts, startling them both. A series of grumbles followed from the rest of their roommates, and Bertholdt uses the sheets to hide his burning face.

Realizing that any chance of returning back to sleep were now gone, Bertholdt turns back to regard the other.

“You’re a menace.”

Eren simply grins.

“I’ve been called worse.”

 

////////////////////////

 

For the most part, the camp is quiet, save for a small scatter of early risers. Most are teachers. Few are students. No one looks at them twice as they make their way across the courtyard.

Bertholdt trudges behind Eren, a yawn escaping his mouth every few seconds. It doesn’t dawn to him until they’re some ways out that they’re heading to the same area he and Reiner first took Eren to train.

“I want you to know that you suck.”

“I know.”

“Why couldn’t you ask me, whatever you have planned, yesterday?”

Eren shrugs. “Didn’t think of it until last night.”

“And it couldn’t it wait until, shit I don’t know, at a more reasonable hour?”

“No time like the present to get started, right?”

Bertholdt can already feel an oncoming headache as they reach the clearing.

“Tell me we’re not running drills, at least,” Bertholdt says, causing Eren to snicker.

“Not that sadistic,” he replies before appraising the surrounding area. “We’re going to spar.”

Bertholdt stares. He thought being dragged out at the crack of dawn would entail in something more interesting.

“You’re one of the few to score top marks. Why would you need the extra training?”

“It’s not me who needs it.”

Eren couldn’t possibly be talking about him.

“Why would I need it?” He asks, trying to mask his offense towards the fact that Eren apparently thought he was a lousy fighter. Sure, Bertholdt wasn’t as aggressive as some of his classmates, but he wasn’t completely inept when it came to self-defense.

Eren seemed to think otherwise.

“You let yourself become a human punching bag.”

“I’m a head taller than a majority of our classmates,” Bertholdt shoots back, “And if you haven’t noticed, most people in general.”

“And you think that’s going to stop anyone?” Eren asks, raising a brow. “If anything, enemies will see that extra height as a threat and try to take you down first. And it’ll be embarrassing for everyone, when you get knocked out by one punch.”

Bertholdt feels his face heat.

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“Remember a couple weeks ago when you got paired up with Daz—“

_“Do not bring that up.”_

“Just trying to minimize the number of black eyes in your future,” Eren drawls innocently, before stretching a shoulder. “I’m not saying you’re _completely_ awful. You know enough to keep Shadis off your ass. You’re just, not ready as you could be yet.”

Bertholdt bristles. As if Eren knew what an actual fight was like.

“You really have a way with people,” Bertholdt spits sarcastically.

Contrary to the temper Bertholdt’s used to, Eren simply shrugs.

“Just calling how I see it. Look, I’m okay if you just want to stick around and keep me company, or even head back to the barracks. No harm done.”

In other words, Bertholdt could still be asleep in bed.

“Then why go to the trouble?” He demands.

Eren pauses in his stretching, before facing him.

“Because the world we live in can be awfully shitty sometimes,” Eren says. “And I really, _really_ rather not see you get hurt. Just… know that the offer stands, alright?”

Even with the half-explanation, the underlying message rings clear.

Eren was concerned for his safety.

Bertholdt struggles with the new piece of knowledge. In the short time they’ve reconciled, Eren has accepted him as his comrade. There were no grudges. No doubts or reservations. Eren was treating him as two friends might, had they known one another for years.

It’s frightening. How easily Eren trusts people.

And yet somehow, Bertholdt can’t find it in himself to be surprised.

Even before their truce, Eren has always treated his comrades well, looked out for them however he could, and to him, Bertholdt was no different.

Briefly Bertholdt considers his options. He soon sighs.

“I’m already out here, I guess.”

Eren nods only once, before shifting into position.

“I promise to go easy on you.”

Bertholdt would have scoffed if he hadn’t seen Eren fight before. Hesitantly, he matches the posture.

“Just… don’t break anything.”

Mostly true to his word, Eren refrains from severely injuring him. Eren does not, however, ‘go easy’.

Every time Bertholdt starts to relax, Eren puts him on the defensive. Every time Bertholdt tries to retreat, Eren advances. Even if he may not be on the same level as Annie or Mikasa, Eren’s abilities are nothing to joke about. What Bertholdt may have in size, Eren makes up in stamina and he soon finds himself straining to keep up.

Despite all this, Bertholdt is pleasantly surprised to discover that Eren is a decent teacher. He’s short and direct when offering pointers, but patient when Bertholdt tries to accommodate them. He doesn’t get irritated when Bertholdt fumbles a move, instead explaining how to correct himself.

He doesn’t coddle Bertholdt with empty praises and while reassurance has never been a necessity for his training, it does make the instances where Eren compliments him, more sincere.

Bertholdt might almost call it nice if he didn’t find the entire thing so unfamiliar.

It soon becomes a pattern; a regular activity Bertholdt looks forward to. They wake up. They hike for a bit up the mountains. They spar for an hour or two before breakfast. The next day, they do it all over again.

Before Bertholdt knows it, two weeks have passed.

“Nice,” Eren laughs, barely dodging a kick Bertholdt swung at his side. “There may actually be hope for you.”

Bertholdt wipes his face. He feels a small smile tug at his mouth. Slowly but surely, he was becoming more receptive to Eren’s praises.

“I’m flattered,” He mocks wistfully, “Truly. I’m surprised that I could even receive such high approval.”

“Damn straight. I don’t offer my compliments freely, you know,” Eren says. “I mean it though. It’s like I said earlier; you already have the skills, it’s only a matter of putting them into practice.”

Stretching briefly to work out sore muscles, Bertholdt moves to sit on the ground; Eren follows his example.

“I can already see the sum of my future injuries decreasing.”

“I can definitely see the sum of black eyes decreasing.”

“Shut up.”

Eren snickers.

The early morning air is a relief to Bertholdt’s warm skin and he relaxes in place. Today seems to be one of those few days where the sun actually made an appearance, warming the ground and lighting the valley below them.

Bertholdt’s eyes drift towards Eren, who’s currently occupied playing with the dirt in front of him, picking up handfuls of soil and letting it slowly trickle between his fingers. The silence is comfortable. He didn’t think that would ever be possible with someone like Eren. If someone had told Bertholdt a year ago that he be regularly hanging out with the other teen, he’d probably laughed in that person’s face.

Armin? A more likely possibility. Mikasa? A little harder to fathom but not completely impossible. Eren though?

Eren was everything Bertholdt was not. Honestly, Bertholdt doubted there was anyone in this entire world that was like him.

It was a wonder sometimes how the trio found each other, let alone, why they stayed together.

“So how did you become friends with Mikasa and Armin?”

Eren’s head tips in Bertholdt’s direction.

“Why the question?”

“It’s just. Your personalities are nothing alike,” he explains. “It’s a little strange sometimes.”

“You and Reiner are nothing alike.”

“But we don’t fight as often.”

“Sure you don’t. And Reiner does have a hardcore crush on Krista.”

Bertholdt starts to argue before remembering their recent fight. How it lasted for weeks.

He sighs. “Point taken.”

Eren smiles for a moment, triumphant. “It’s not a bad thing. Better than always tip-toeing around one another. Who wants to be friends with someone they can’t be their self with?”

Bertholdt sighs.

“It’s not always that simple. You can’t always expect brutal honesty to go well with everyone.”

“Sure you can. Most people just don’t try.”

“And if it can’t be avoided?” Bertholdt challenges. “What if a mission requires your cooperation? Is getting the last word, really that important if it means causing friction?”

“Not if it’s going to blow up some time later,” Eren replies. “I mean, I get putting personal stuff aside, but if it’s something big, why hide it? As long as you have good reason, and you don’t act like a complete shithead, your voice doesn’t mean any less than theirs.”

Bertholdt’s thoughts drift back to Franz.

“And if the other person is your superior?”

Eren’s tone remains resolute.

“Doesn’t matter,” Eren says firmly. “If they’ve earned their title, they would either hear others out, or prove they’re not worth doubting in the first place. Can’t get any simpler than that.”

As if reality was that clear-cut.

Eren’s eyes return forward. “As for your question… I met Mikasa back when I was ten or so. She kinda, hasn’t changed much since then. Pretty much the same person as you see her now. Quiet, single-minded,” he winces. “Could throw a mean left hook…”

“Speaking from personal experience?” Bertholdt teases. He already knew the answer and doesn’t bother to hide his smile as Eren glares at him.

“You spar with her and see if you’re still laughing.”

“I like my head where it is, thanks.”

“Thought so,” Eren huffs. “God, you think her strength was a recent development but she’s always been scary as a kid. Armin used to tell me bullies only ran _after_ they saw her, but nope, I was so convinced at the time that it was all me.”

Bertholdt could believe that. His smile widens and Eren shoots him another exasperated glare.

“Don’t be a dick. I already know I was dumb kid.”

“Your words, not mine.”

“And people seriously think you’re such a nice person,” Eren says in disbelief. “What would they do if they knew the real you?”

‘String me up,’ Bertholdt thinks, recalling his classmates’ usual comments towards titans. ‘Make me suffer.’

Bertholdt shakes his head to rid the thoughts.

“If I remember right, you two aren’t related? How did you meet?”

“I met her a couple years after Armin. Her family was close friends with mine.”

Bertholdt nods before his brain halts.

“Was?” He echoes.

He watches Eren’s expression dim, before turning away. The easy air between them becomes heavy.

“They were murdered.”

For a moment, Bertholdt was loss for words.

“I’m… I’m so sorry…”

Eren gives a slight shrug, still avoiding eye contact. “Not like you’re the one responsible… I, look, I can’t—I don’t really want to go into detail about this. You understand right?”

There was clearly something more to this story, but Bertholdt knew better than to press further. Still, he feels a small pang of pity for Mikasa. While he couldn’t empathize personally, he knew for a fact that losing a loved guardian was always hard . Something like that changed you forever. Was that why she was so protective of her friends?

“Were they… caught, at least?” He asks carefully. “The one’s responsible?”

Bertholdt wouldn’t quite call the shift in Eren’s mouth a smile. Not with how dark his eyes became.

“They got what they deserved.”

A chill runs down Bertholdt’s spine. Eren continues.

“It’s funny… how people who think they’re so... _in control_ are often easiest to kick down.”

Memories of the basement and shed suddenly flood Bertholdt’s brain, and he has to restrain himself from recoiling away. There it was again. That distinct hostility no normal individual could ever be capable of. The instance was always brief, appearing and fading before Bertholdt could process it. But it _always_ left his blood cold.

It would be wise to change the subject.

“What about Armin? How did you meet him?”

All traces of… whatever he saw, melts from Eren’s face, replaced by something fond.

“Armin’s been my friends since we were kids. He’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, smarter than he gives himself credit for sometimes. I mean, other kids always got so caught up in stupid things. Who was the biggest, who was the toughest, same old bullshit,” Eren scoffs.

“But Armin… he always saw the bigger picture. Could see things no one else would even think of. He’s part of the reason why I wanted to join the Survey Corp. To go beyond the wall someday.”

Bertholdt tries to fathom the short teen being the one responsible for inciting Eren’s dangerous goal.

“Armin?”

“Yeah.”

Eren leans back on his hands. “He had this book when we were little. Filled with pictures of everything found beyond the wall… I think it belonged to his parents or grandpa.”

He was becoming more animated, gesturing his hands as though they would help Bertholdt’ mental picture and he soon forgets this was the same person who promised blood earlier.

“Icy mountains that stretched towards the sky, land where ground is completely sand—and there’s this thing called an ‘ocean’.”

‘Sound like a hoax,” Bertholdt almost says. In all his years of living beyond the wall, he’s never heard of such things.

“What’s an ‘oc-cean’?”

"Ocean."

"Same thing."

Eren rolls his eyes, before his brow furrows in thought.

“It’s like—this huge body of water.”

“Like a river?”

“Bigger.”

“A lake?”

“ _Bigger._ ”

Bertholdt’s brain strains to comprehend it, and he gets repaid with a headache for his effort. He rubs at his forehead.

“This isn’t some joke, is it?”

“Hell no! Think of it like… everything inside of Wall Maria but covered with water. Only bigger.”

Bertholdt huffs. “Saying its ‘bigger’ after every description isn’t going to help me picture it.”

“Not my fault that you’re not perceptually aware enough to imagine it.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Would you believe me if I said it’s also made up of salt and fish?”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.”

Despite the reply, Bertholdt finds himself laughing and Eren grinning too.

“But seriously, could you imagine ever seeing something like that? Any of it? There’s like—this whole world out there that everyone’s just forgotten. Just waiting to be re-discovered.”

All previous humor suddenly sobering, Bertholdt bites his lip. This wasn’t some fantasy. Eren truly believed there was more out there.

“How do you know any of it is real?” He asks. “What if the stories are just made up?”

“Who’s to say it isn’t?” Eren retorts and Bertholdt suspects this isn’t the first time someone’s doubted him. “The only way anyone would know for sure is if we actually ventured out and _looked_.”

Just as quickly, Eren deflates. “But I guess it’s hard to say in a long run. Who knows how much the world has changed…”

He hesitates. “It’s kind of why I avoided bringing it up with Armin, you know? I know being a scout is dangerous. I’m not stupid. I know people who join often die a few days later. And they usually find jack squat in the end. I just—I can’t do that to him. It would kill me if either him or Mikasa join and then got hurt.”

A nice sort of sentiment, he thinks… but unnecessary. Bertholdt couldn’t imagine Armin of Mikasa taking kindly to Eren sneaking off to join the scouts. To be fully honest, their presence would likely increase Eren’s chances of survivals than inhibit it. Eren didn’t earn the nickname ‘suicidal bastard’ for nothing.

Still. Even as someone who’s spent most of their life outside the wall, Bertholdt couldn’t fathom the possibility of any of the places Eren described being out there, let alone existing. But from their conversation, Eren evidently knew of the danger. Was still willing to risk it all anyway .

“I hope you find those places,” Bertholdt says sincerely. “I hope that when that day comes, you get to tell me about them.”

Eren snort. “Screw that; I’ll just drag your ass along, so you can see them for yourself.”

Bertholdt doesn’t try to correct him, only offering a slight laugh.

“Sure, I look forward to it.”

Eren smiles, satisfied.

“Enough about my friends; what about Reiner? You two know each other for a long time?”

Bertholdt considers the question. It seemed only fair to share some things about his friend.

“Since we were kids.”

“And it’s just been the two of you?”

His last memory of Berik, elbowing Reiner out of the way before he’s snatched and shoved into the drooling mouth of a titan, flashes across his mind, and Bertholdt stares hard at the ground.

It takes a moment for Eren to notice Bertholdt’s silence, and he looks over. Whatever he sees causes him to cringe.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize—“

“No, it’s—it’s okay. It happened a long time ago.”

He could still hear echoes of bones snapping and the stench of copper.

Bertholdt can feel the uncertainty rising from Eren and wishes he hadn’t reacted at all.

“… Who were they?”

“Someone I knew since Reiner and I were kids…”

Eren chews his lip.

“Were they… were you two close?”

Despite the grisly image still fresh in his head, Bertholdt almost snorts at the question.

“I guess,” he mutters, without thinking.

Eren’s frowns.

“You guess?”

Realizing how that sounded, Bertholdt tries to amend. “I didn’t mean— we just, didn’t always get along…”

He could feel Eren’s stare. Not accusing, only curious, and yet Bertholdt feels judged all the same.

“Why not?”

Bertholdt considers demanding that Eren drop the question. He also considers ignoring the inquiry and changing the subject altogether.

“He… he always made things difficult,” Bertholdt tries to explain. “Reiner—“ he cuts himself off realizing that single word revealed all too much.

But Eren doesn’t press. Doesn’t make assumptions. Only watches, waiting, and Bertholdt…

Bertholdt just wants someone to understand.

“There… weren’t many children in our village. At first it was just me and Reiner. Berik—“ Bertholdt realizes this is the first time he’s said his name, aloud in almost two years, and feels a pang in his stomach. “—Berik came a little later.”

“Berik was great… always looked out for us. Made sure we stayed out of trouble. _Got us into trouble_ ,” he scoffs. “Not that he couldn’t charm his way out. God, I remember there was this time he convinced Reiner and me to sneak out one night to investigate this shack on the edge of our village. Deserted for years; locals swore up and down that it was haunted. I still can’t remember how Berik persuaded us it was a good idea in the first place…”

Well, that’s not true; Bertholdt had some idea. Reiner was always up for Berik’s adventures, no matter how life-threatening. He probably didn’t need much convincing.

“Didn’t peg you for the rebellious type,” Eren’s grin, though hesitant, is mischievous.

“Those two were idiots. Someone with common sense had to make sure they didn’t die,” Bertholdt explains before sighing. “Not that it made a difference. By the time we got there, Reiner and Berik spent a good half hour arguing back and forth on who’d go in first. Neither could work up the nerve to set a foot inside. It was a wonder we didn’t get caught with the racket they were making.”

“So you three wound up going home?”

Bertholdt stills. To his side, Eren regards him curiously.

“Bert?”

“No, I… I volunteered.”

Eren smiles for a moment, probably thinking Bertholdt was joking. But as the silence stretches, he smile soon morphs into a frown.

“That’s… surprising.”

“Is it?”

“Being the one with self-proclaimed ‘common sense’, I figured you be the one telling them it was a shitty idea.”

“Well I wasn’t.”

“I didn’t mean—“

Eren’s eyebrows furrow, sensing there was something more, but he only shakes his head.

“Never mind… what happened then?”

“I took one step and the floor collapsed under me.”

Eren jaw drops.

“Shit! A—are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“But—Reiner and Berik were there! They got help right? Or tried to get you out?”

Bertholdt breathes out a sigh.

“Something like that, though I can’t say… I remember that part too clearly…”

Bertholdt doesn’t tell Eren about eventually waking up. He doesn’t tell Eren about how he numbly studying his surroundings before cold reality sunk in, replacing that confusion with horror. He doesn’t tell Eren how he sat there in the dark, sobbing from both fear and pain as bones stuck out in paces they shouldn’t. He doesn’t tell Eren how his mind flew through every possible worst case scenario, but always returned to two coherent ones: that Berik and Reiner had somehow instigated this, and that he would die down there, alone.

He simply continues his story.

“Berik got help. He was the one who told Reiner to stay in case I woke up. He kept me calm,” Bertholdt explains. “They dug me out. Berik tried to claim responsibility for the whole thing. That it was his fault that Reiner and I came along, that he was the reason why I went inside the shack in the first place.”

Bertholdt’s smile becomes wry.

“We were placed under lockdown for nearly two weeks. I came out of that adventure with two broken ribs, an arm and a leg.”

It occurs to him then that Bertholdt had no logical reason for telling Eren any of this. It wasn’t as if Berik had goaded Bertholdt in the first place. Tricked him and later blamed him for entering of his own volition. If anything, Berik was the hero; the one who took charge and got help, despite the risk of punishment. Who defended Reiner and Bertholdt and owned up to his mistake.

Bertholdt thinks back to how Berik visited him almost every day, even after their lockdown was lifted, because he was still learning how to accelerate his healing at the time. He thinks about how Reiner only seemed to remember to come along through Berik’s reminders.

Who could ever dislike someone like that?

“There was a reason why you volunteered to go in first, wasn’t there?”

The sudden question prompts Bertholdt to turn towards Eren.

“You were jealous.”

Bertholdt flinches, stung.

“No,” he says coldly. “I wasn’t.”

“It’s not anything to get upset about—“

“—because there was nothing to get upset over.”

“You wanted to impress them—”

“I didn’t—“

“So that’s why you went first—“

“That wasn’t—“

“And then you got hurt because of it—“

“You don’t know anything!” Bertholdt suddenly shouts.

Instantly, humiliation fills him at his outburst and he attempts to steady his voice.

“It was an accident… I did something reckless and I dealt with the consequences, so please just—drop it.”

For a moment, Eren’s eyes flash and Bertholdt thinks, god, Eren must hate him now, and had every right to. Bertholdt was the one who brought it up so why was he getting so upset? _Why was he overreacting_? Eren once made it clear that he tried to see something good in Bertholdt and found nothing worthwhile in the end. Any reservations he might have had that Bertholdt was something more were surely gone now.

Bertholdt braces for the venom, mind filled with static. Envious, petty, disgusting—

But Eren only takes in a deep breath.

“Okay,” he says, seeming to address the word more towards himself. “Okay. I obviously touched a bad subject. I’m sorry. Look—I didn’t mean to upset you. I just— I blurt out things sometimes. But this clearly is… something I don’t have the full story of and I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”

Eren looks at him carefully, features uncommonly gentle.

“Are things between us still okay?”

Bertholdt releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’s been holding. The angry buzz inside his head was still present, but now seemed… hushed.

“We’re fine,” the reply is pathetic and Bertholdt hesitates on continuing. “You weren’t too far off the mark, to be honest. I just—I hate that this still bothers me. That I _let_ it bother me.”

Eren regards him quietly before sighing.

“Hey, I don’t know how much this means, coming from me, but …I’m not going to think less of you just because some past event still upsets you, alright?” He picks at a piece of lint on is shirt. “It’s okay. _It’s normal_. You’re not going to stop being my friend over something like this.”

Bertholdt huffs what might be a laugh.

“We’ve literally stopped fighting only a couple weeks ago. Seems a bit early to consider each other ‘friends’, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah?” Eren challenges. “Who decided that? There some rule out there that says how long two people need be in the same company of one another before they can decide whether they can actually stand each other? Because, Bert, we’ve passed that point a long time ago.”

The uncertainty Bertholdt feels ebbs away at the joke.

“Speak for yourself.”

Eren throws a punch at Bertholdt’s arm which he dodges. They’re both grinning.

“Seriously though. I don’t want you to feel like you need to put up a front for me. It was weird the first time around and that type of shit creeps me out,” Eren makes a face, before relaxing his feature. “I like what I’m seeing. Even if it sometimes embarrasses the fuck out of you. You’re more, hell, I don’t know. More real this way.”

Bertholdt struggles for reply. Experience has taught him early on to repress such insecurities to avoid judgment. Especially over something deemed small and meaningless. It’s always been that way. It kept him focused. Even with Reiner, he rarely allows himself to be this vulnerable unless forced to.

It’s bizarre. Receiving such reassurance. And yet…

“Thank you,” he finally decides.

Eren merely smiles. Soon he breaks out into a yawn.

“Enough mushy feelings. Let’s grab some food. I’m starving!”

He sits up, offering a hand for Bertholdt to take, which he does and Eren hauls him up. They head down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to first apologize for the long wait on this chapter and secondly, how grateful I am by all the kind comments the first one received. It really means a lot to me that people took the time to read this story and even more that they gave their own personal thoughts about it. I love this pairing and I want to see this story through no matter what.
> 
> I feel like I should warn that future chapters are going to get darker as the story goes on which is why I boosted to the rating up. Please mind the tags especially if you're uncomfortable with violence on the level of the show/manga.
> 
> This chapter is a bit shorter than I would have liked but hopefully substantial. A huge thank you again to all the people who gave their encouragement! And I hope you enjoy the next part of this story.

Bertholdt never expected things to turn out this way.

When Bertholdt first entered the military, he expected a quiet existence. A life dictated by routine. Each day cycling one after another, until eventually they all blurred altogether.

Boring but acceptable.

After his fight with Reiner and Eren, Bertholdt’s outlook became bleaker. During that period, he expected a life like the month after their infiltration. Scared, paranoid and alone, awhile struggling to keep himself and his comrades afloat.

Isolated but focused.

No, looking back these last three years, Bertholdt can definitely say he didn’t expect his life to turn out as it did, in the slightest.

He dare say these last two were the best ones of his life.

Though that isn’t to say they came without cost.

If there was anything Bertholdt learned in that period, it was that Annie’s relationship with people has always been… complicated. Like Bertholdt initially, she kept her head down, distanced herself from the others, and interacted only when necessary. Unlike him however, she saw little reason to maintain a polite façade, shooting down attempts at friendships with such severe intensity that left even Bertholdt wincing.

Regardless, she was still their ally. And even though their reunion started off far from friendly, Bertholdt had hoped their relationship would improve in time.

Their conversation in the stalls, at least, seemed to hint so.

Bertholdt would never know. Annie was quick to cut all ties after learning about his friendship with Eren. A connection that gradually expanded to the rest of their circle.

She never voiced any of her disapproval. But from time to time, Bertholdt would feel her gaze, judging, as he began to open up more and more to his comrades.

And shame of his own hypocrisy, would have pushed him back into his role had it not been for Eren.

It began with small things. Like Eren joining him at meals or Bertholdt explaining the assignment for that day. Simple, irrelevant things.

Then they started joking about Shadis glossy head during one of their shared classes. Rapid-fire whispers that reduced Bertholdt to tears from trying (and failing) to smother his laughter. An ordeal that landed them in janitorial work for a week straight.  
Then another incident where they were both enlisted in helping Reiner ask Krista out. A fiasco that somehow landed him and Eren in janitorial work for three weeks.

And another instance where Eren suffered a serious cold and Bertholdt rotated alongside Mikasa and Armin in keeping Eren up to date in their lectures, rolling his eyes at Eren’s pathetic whines _‘that he was dying, Bert’_ , but remaining at his side even when his other friends would come to relieve him from duty.

Brief interactions that became more frequent. Until, before Bertholdt realized, they soon became an integral part of each other’s lives.

It’s worrying. How easily they fall into sync.

And there were instances where Bertholdt tries to withdraw. To distance himself. And each time he failed because he simply missed Eren’s company.

Or moments where Eren just doesn’t get it, and presses an issue too hard that leaves Bertholdt seething. They’ve stepped on each other’s toes, had their share of fights. But unlike the time before their truce, they made efforts to be patient. And use pass knowledge to better understand one another.

It was a type of relationship he only experienced with Reiner and simultaneously one he never thought he would have with Eren.

Two years later and a week before graduation, he’s enjoying the company of his classmates, and Bertholdt…

Bertholdt actually felt content.

“Are you kidding me?” Eren shouts. He jabs a finger in Bertholdt’s direction. “This guy is a fucking asshole. He got mad at me earlier for missing equipment checks and left me to partner up with Daz! DAZ. Do you know what it’s like to work with Daz? Absolute. Mind-numbing. Torture.”

Laughter erupts from their group.

“Yeah right! I’ve never seen Bertholdt be an ass to anyone,” Connie says. “And even if you weren’t lying, you probably deserved it.”

“No, I’m serious! See? _See?_ The bastard is smiling!”

Bertholdt was indeed sporting a grin behind his mug. But given the argument’s direction he doubted it be used against him.

Eren fumes as the laughter continues.

“God—Reiner! Help me out here!”

Said teen lifts his hands in defense.

“Nah man, you’re on your own.”

Eren makes an exasperated noise that resembles a cross between a honk and a goat, causing Bert to snort in his drink. The action goes unnoticed by everyone but Eren, who shoves Bertholdt’s side. To an outside observer, the action may seem aggressive. But Bertholdt knows for a fact there’s less force behind the blow than the ones he throws at Jean.

Catching Eren’s eye, Bertholdt smiles.

Eren’s scowl softens.

Other chatter soon fills and attention drifts from the two.

Eren nudges Bertholdt’s side again. Gentler.

“How the exams go?” He asks. “Think all that extra work paid off?”

“It better. Or I’m going to be pissed by all the early mornings you’ve made me suffered through.”

“Oh boo-hoo,” Eren laughs. “It helped in the long run, didn’t it? I swear, I’ve never met anyone throw such a fit over losing a few hours of sleep.”

“It was more waking up and seeing your awful face than anything else.”

“Cry me a river.”

Eren snickers and Bertholdt shakes his head, smiling. Abruptly however, Eren’s expression slips into something more subdued.

Bertholdt regards him curiously.

“You alright?” 

“Yeah, fine.”

He wasn’t.

Eren was chewing on the string that closed the collar of his shirt, a habit he only did when anxious.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Bertholdt inquires carefully.

Eren hesitates. He releases the string from his mouth.

“It’s just… do you have to join the military police?”

At the question, Bertholdt looks away. This wasn’t the first time Eren tried to dissuade him from joining the MP. And with Bertholdt’s dodgy explanations, it was a topic that often incited arguments. Wasted potential, Eren often said. Claimed Bertholdt’s abilities were worth way more than being a glorified guard dog. Couldn’t understand why Bertholdt remain rigid after all this time.

It wasn’t until their third year that Eren stopped asking.

“You know my answer,” Bertholdt murmurs.

Eren huffs a sigh that seems more resigned than accusing.

“Right, joining the MP will help you be able to return home,” Eren tries for a smile. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss your sorry ass.”

Bertholdt wavers.

“It won’t be forever… I’m sure we’ll still get to see one another…”

The instant the words left his mouth, Bertholdt knew he was full of shit. Soldiers of different regiments rarely saw one another. And with Bertholdt tucked away inside the inner walls and Eren… regularly off on missions, the chances of them seeing one another became even slimmer. Unless he got magically promoted within the coming months, he’d honestly have more luck promising Eren a unicorn.

Despite the empty reassurance, Eren only grins in response.

“Right. Otherwise I’ll have to track you down and who knows how long that’ll take. Hey officer, seen any gangly, tall kids with ears the size of Wall Maria?”

Bertholdt sputters.

“ _The size of Maria?_ ”

“You might also know him as the only cadet capable of sleeping on his head.”

Bertholdt smacks Eren’s side and they dissolve into laughter. Inwardly, relief fills him that the subject was dropped. The last thing he wanted was to leave things on a bad note. Especially… since this may be the last time Bertholdt might ever see him.

They catch the end of Connie’s story, retelling about Jean’s recent failed attempt to charm Mikasa. Some poor recitation of poetry, if Bertholdt gathered correctly. Apparently Shadis was behind him the entire duration.

“… by the time he noticed, Sasha told me Jean looked like he wet himself!”

The group falls into laughter. More-so after Jean launches at Connie and snatches him into a headlock, Marco’s protests lost among the noise.

“Shit,” Reiner wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye. “That’s embarrassing. Still. At least you can safely assume she doesn’t have any interest in Shadis.”

“No luck with Krista?” Nac inquires. 

“Nah,” Reiner sighs, leaning back. “Not with the gargoyle always hanging off her.”

“Too bad.”

“I don’t get how someone so nasty can be friends with someone so sweet,” his eyes soon glaze. “And nice… and pretty.”

Several groans ensue.

“I’m going to puke.”

“Seriously.”

“Ugh, someone stop him before he serenades about her golden locks again,” Eren gags.

Bertholdt only smiles at the comments. These days, they came easier.

“Speaking of pretty,” Thomas muses. “Hilda was awfully eager to pair with Bertholdt during sparring today.”

His smile drops.

“What? You’re shitting me! How Bertholdt manage to score with her?”

Soon Bertholdt finds several eager faces filling his space. And even though he’s long become accustomed to group settings, he never enjoyed the rare instances where everyone’s attention became fixated on him.

Hilda. He vaguely recalls a girl with thick eyelashes and a long braid trailing down her back approaching him during training earlier that day.

He remembers a playful smile, accompanied with sharp eyes. How she drew close, tempting his attacks, only to outmaneuver at the very last second.

Bertholdt thinks about how she left way too many openings in her stance. And how if he pulled the same thing while sparring with Eren, he’d find his ass handed to him and face down in the dirt.

… He may have snuck off to spar with Armin, at the earliest convenience. 

“So what happened?”

“Did you ask her out?”

Bertholdt stares at the bottom of his mug. He wills the ground to swallow him whole.

“Err—“

“Tell us, Bertholdt!”

“Spit it out! Give us the details!”

It becomes a bombardment of one question after another. Deep down, Bertholdt knows the curiosity is harmless. That he had nothing to hide and could easily end the discussion with one word. But the interrogation is relentless, loud and insistent, and he can’t get a sound out—

“Would you all stop fucking badgering him!”

Bertholdt’s head lifts. At some point, Eren had oriented himself between Bertholdt and the others.

“Are you stupid? He doesn’t want to talk about it!” Eren barks.

The response is met with stunned silence. No one utters a single word, as they all stare, each wearing expressions of varying degrees of surprise.

Then Jean speaks.

“Shit Yeager. No need to pop a gasket. It’s not like you two are married.”

Bertholdt’s brain stops working.

“Jean!”

Any response Jean may have had was muffled by Marco’s hands, before he's hauled away.

Not too long after, others began to awkwardly excuse themselves, leaving one by one until only he and Eren were left. Even Reiner gives a polite cough and leaves, slapping his shoulder as he passes, followed by Armin who shoots a pointed look in Eren’s direction.

Bertholdt stares unprocessing.

What just happened?

He tries to catch Eren’s eye, hoping for some explanation on the strange phenomenon that just occurred, and finds him stubbornly avoiding eye contact, cheeks red.

Bertholdt opens his mouth to ask if Eren is alright.

It hits him.

Oh.

Fuck.

////////////////////////

“Eren likes me.”

Noting the hysterical edge to Bertholdt’s tone, Reiner’s becomes careful.

“Okay.”

A confirmation; like Bertholdt noted the weather.

“ _Why didn’t you say anything?_ ” Bertholdt nearly screeches.

An eyebrow rises.

“Because I thought it was obvious?”

“Not to me!”

Reiner looks up, thoughtful.

“Huh.”

“What.”

“You’re usually more perceptive than this.”

Bertholdt bites his tongue to stop himself from screaming.

Reiner refocuses. “But that’s beside the point. Why are you freaking out?”

He can’t be serious.

“Why...? _Why?_ ” Bertholdt seethes when Reiner remains reclined against the side of the boys’ dorms. “Because-- because--”

Because Eren can’t like me.

Because Eren has no reason to like me.

Because if Eren found out what I did, _what I am_ , he would hate me.

“Bertholdt, breathe.”

At the command, air floods his lungs, and Bertholdt’s legs nearly buckle from the force of it.

A hand guides Bertholdt to a nearby crate and forces him to sit. After assuring Bertholdt was no longer on the verge of hyperventilation, Reiner joins him.

“So, Eren has a crush on you. Big whoop. It’s not like you have to return his feelings or anything.”

It’s a small comfort, but something inside Bertholdt eases at the words.

“Unless your rejection makes him snap and he decides to kill you.”

Bertholdt chokes.

“Shit, fuck! Kidding! I’m kidding! I—look, I know Eren can be, uhh, intense? But he wouldn’t do anything that extreme! Please Bert, I’m sorry—“

Realizing Reiner was probably in his other persona right now, Bertholdt tries to steady his breathing. Almost three years of this and he still had trouble distinguishing the two. It wasn’t often that Reiner switched personalities. At least not without some evident provocation. Then again it rarely differed from his warrior one, _his true one_ , enough to be obvious.

Early on, Bertholdt hoped Reiner’s situation would improve in their stable environment. But it seemed like despite their best efforts, Reiner had no control over his switching. Like it or not, the soldier persona had become a part of him. Another identity. And the best he and Annie could do was mitigate his actions. Each switching off in supervision reminding him again and again about their mission.

It worked as well as one could expect, which to say, was like using tape to patch the holes of a sinking ship.

Either way, Bertholdt generally found it easier to play along whenever Reiner’s soldier side arose.

“I’m okay…” he wheezes. “You’re right. Eren, he, he would never do something like that,” he tries for a laugh and the sound comes out strangled.

Reiner only stares at him. Perplexed but concerned, and Bertholdt, not for the first time, envies his ignorance.

“Really, I’m okay—“ _He really wasn’t._ “I just—I mean, I don’t know what to—“

“Hey…” Reiner says. “Don’t have to feel pressured into doing anything you don’t want, alright?”

Bertholdt hides his grimace. He could barely remember a time in his childhood that he did something for himself. That didn’t somehow tie back towards the advancement of their mission.

Every action, every lesson drilled into him, his entire being was an opportunity to right a longtime wrong.

It may seem unfair, he remembered Franz explained, but only Bertholdt and the others could do this.

Only they could avenge their village, find the first titan, and locate the coordinate.

And given these special powers, this special responsibility, _shouldn’t they_?

Shouldn’t… they…

Bertholdt’s frown deepens.

He tries to make sense why Franz’s once familiar words now seem foreign. When he realizes the answer, he feels his gut churn.

Bertholdt hasn’t thought about their mission in months.

Sure, they couldn’t do much until the next stage of their attack… but with that window rapidly approaching, they should have been dedicating their free time planning. Preparing.

Shit.

_Shit._

When did his mission drop from being his first priority?

Before he could panic about the issue further, Reiner’s voice breaks through.

“Which uhh, don’t take this the wrong way, is kind of weird?”

Confused, Bertholdt turns to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

Reiner eyes him for a moment, like he couldn’t fathom how someone could be so stupid. Finally he sighs.

“I know relationships can be fucking scary. And with you, they’re like… ten times worst—“ Bertholdt starts to protest until Reiner shoots him a look. “But I thought—I mean considering how close you two have become—that you… you know, actually liked him? That way?”

Immediately, various dismissals gather on his tongue.

Ridiculous.

Absurd.

_Out of the fucking question._

And yet he remains silent.

////////////////////////

In celebration of completing their finals, the instructors allow the to-be graduates to spend their last evening in the city before joining their respective regiments.

It’s naturally an exciting event, given the fact that they’ve been restricted to military grounds for the last three years.

And while venturing out proves to be a nice change of pace, Bertholdt finds it difficult to share his classmates’ enthusiasm. Especially since his last experience with the city had been far from pleasant. If anything, being here served as an unwanted reminder of his first miserable months after infiltrating the wall. And with Eren’s nonverbal confession weighing on his mind, Bertholdt wasn’t exactly eager to face him.

If he had a choice, Bertholdt wouldn’t even be here. But Reiner had convinced him that hanging out with their friends would take his mind off of things.

Bertholdt knew the truth. He saw the poorly disguised attempt to get him and Eren to ‘talk things out’ for what it was, but agreed anyway. Now he was kicking himself over his stupidity.

The realization doesn’t dawn until they’re well into the city.

Decorations adorn the buildings. People celebrating. 

How could he forget that the third anniversary since the attack on Shinganshina was coming up?

‘This is a damn nightmare.’

He trails behind the group, eyes glued to the ground. An action which proves counterproductive, when he looks up and finds the rest of his group gone.

Save for Eren.

Bertholdt tries not to panic, eyes scanning for a nearby classmate – someone, _anyone_ – within the surrounding crowds.

“When did—?”

“A while ago.”

“But how—?”

“Don’t know. Everyone kind of went off to do their own thing.”

“Oh…”

The conversation drops and they lapse into an awkward silence.

For half a moment, Bertholdt considers also sneaking off before guilt fills him. He already made an ass of himself by sprinting out on Eren the day before. To run away again over a minor interaction like this…

‘You’re overreacting. This is okay. This is fine. Just—say something.’

He turns.

“So how do—“

“What do you think—“

Mouths snap shut and they avert eyes.

Bertholdt begins to reevaluates his escape plan until Eren releases what sounds like a stream of obscenities under his breath.

“God this is so fucking stupid.” He turns to Bertholdt. “Are we really going to let some idiotic comment – from Jean of all people – make every conversation between us feel like pulling teeth? Damn it, Bert, I’m dying here! This is literally killing me! Can’t we, I don’t know, just forget about what happened and have fun today?”

Bertholdt stares.

In that moment, he marvels at Eren’s ability to tackle an issue head on, and finds himself once again, grateful for it.

This… this was good.

Last night was a misunderstanding. Eren was just as embarrassed by the whole ordeal, as he was. They could forget about what happened and continue where they left off.

“Yeah. You’re right,” Bertholdt tries for a smile. “Let’s have fun today.”

Eren rolls his eyes.

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming. No, really. You might want to rein it in a bit. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

At the response, Bertholdt feels the tension in his smile ease.

“I’m touched,” he says, joking along. “I’m so fortunate to have someone like you looking out for me.”

Bertholdt expects a reply of similar caliber. But instead something crosses Eren’s face, and he becomes engrossed by a piece of litter near Bertholdt’s feet

“’Course… We’re friends. Aren’t we?”

Unseen, Bertholdt feels his smile falter.

Friend.

Even now, it baffled him how easily Eren tossed that word around.

That he would come to associate someone like Bertholdt with it.

“S—sure.”

He could already feel the previous discomfort creeping back in. A sensation Eren likely also felt. He nudges an elbow at Bertholdt’s side.

“Come on. It’s been ages since we’ve seen civilization. I wanna see how much has changed.”

////////////////////////

Surprisingly, dropping a day’s worth of awkward exchanges proves to be far easier than Bertholdt anticipated

They don’t manage to locate the rest of their group. And it doesn’t seem like anyone makes any effort to seek them out either which, to say the least, perplexes him.

Given what happened last time, Bertholdt expected Mikasa and Armin to be hovering like hawks. Yet not once do either make an appearance. Which isn’t bad, per say. He and Eren have their own fun, chatting, poking through shops, and enjoying the festivities.

And while being back in the city makes Bertholdt skittish, the irrational fear that someone would somehow connect him to the colossal titan, being around Eren makes it easy to forget what happened when he and Reiner first arrived to the walls.

“You’re shitting me.”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Nope.”

Bertholdt watches Eren gape at him like he just told him Krista confessed her undying love to Reiner. He feels a smile tug his mouth. 

“No joke. You’ve never had a Franzbrötchen?” He repeats.

“That’s a mouthful, and I have no idea what that is.”

Eren makes a face and Bertholdt’s composure almost breaks. Eren has never looked more offended.

“How do you live with yourself?”

The small smile becomes a full-blown grin.

“It’s a mystery.”

“Well fuck that.” Eren snaps, snatching his sleeve and beginning to drag him towards one of the stalls. “No one should ever go through their life, without trying a Franzbrötchen, at least once.”

Immediately, Bertholdt’s smile drops at the announcement. He tries to dig his heels down, sputtering, but Eren easily tugs him along as though he weighed nothing more than a ragdoll. Onlookers shoot them amused looks and he hears giggles erupt from a group of women nearby. Feeling his face warm, Bertholdt hunches to retain some dignity.

“H—hold on—let’s think this through— how do you intend to get one?”

“What do you mean ‘how’? With money, of course.”

“What money?”

“Money that I brought with me?”

Trainees don’t get salaries.

“Wait, how did— _did you rob someone—?_ “

“Quiet, “ Eren commands, shooting a smile over his shoulder. “One way or another, you’re going to try a Franzbrötchen and you are going to enjoy the shit out of it.”

Bertholdt could already feel sweat forming.

Off to the side, Bertholdt fidgets as he waits for Eren to buy the pastries. True to his word, Eren procures a small sum of money, most likely diligently saved over a long period of time. And while Bertholdt tries to dissuade him from spending it on something as trivial as food, Eren only waves him off.

“You can treat me next time around. When we meet up again,” he says.

And Bertholdt has never been more thankful that Eren chooses that moment to turn away, because he couldn’t hide his shame nearly fast enough.

“Here we are!” Eren announces, brandishing the freshly cooked pastry beneath his nose. “One Franzbrötchen!”

Bertholdt eyes it.

“Doesn’t look like much.”

Eren’s cheer morphs into a scowl.

“See if I ever waste money on you again.”

Bertholdt snickers, hastily accepting the pastry before Eren decides to do something rash and shove it into his face. The paper wrapping the good crinkles in his hand. Warmth seeps through, followed by the scent of butter and cinnamon.

Unaccustomed to such rich foods, Bertholdt takes a moment to close his eyes and breathe the scent in.

It’s heavenly. Comforting.

Opening his eyes, he catches Eren watching, previous annoyance now replaced with amusement. Bertholdt ducks and clears his throat.

“We never had things like these back in my village,” he tries to explain. Even though he spent most of his childhood well-fed, a small perk for his status in the village, ingredients found in goods like these were generally hard to come by.

“Sounds like an awful place,” Eren muses, before taking a bite from his own pastry. Bertholdt knows the comment was offhanded, that Eren meant no offence, but feels a twinge of defense all the same. “What sort of things did you have there?”

It takes Bertholdt a moment to register the question. And even longer to come up with an answer.

“I—I can’t remember. Just the usual stuff. Bread, meat, cheese…”

“What about your favorite food as a kid? Snack? Anything like that?”

Bertholdt’s brows furrow. He stubbornly tries to recall something, anything, but comes up blank. Jonas, his guardian, never had a knack for cooking anything special, and meals were only just meals. Rarely anything noteworthy.

“Not really,” he finally answers.

To his side, Eren’s chewing slows. He studies Bertholdt’s face before letting his eyes drift to the people passing by.

“My mom used to make these when I was a kid.”

Bertholdt stills.

Even after all these years, the subject of Eren’s parents was even more taboo than his last day in Shinganshina.

Bertholdt had his theories, like everyone else, sure. Never sought to confirm them, however. Didn’t see much of a point picking at old wounds just to sate his curiosity.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Only on special occasions though, like a birthday or holiday. And when the ingredients were available,” Eren explains. “It was usually just butter and dough. Sometimes raisins. The few times we had chocolate…”

Eren eyes flutter in exaggeration and Bertholdt fights back a snort.

“Deciding who got the last one was always a nightmare,” Eren continues, glowering. “Swear it was one of the few things Mikasa ever fought me on. Don’t even get me started on Armin.”

Bertholdt’s mouth cracks into a smile.

“I can’t picture Armin getting riled up. They must have been pretty special.”

At the comment, Eren’s own smile fades into something sadder.

“Yeah… they were…”

Bertholdt’s mouth dries. Before he can utter another word, possibly an apology, Eren taps a finger against his hand. The one cradling the pastry.

“Eat. I don’t have enough money to buy you another if this one gets cold.”

“R—right.”

Bertholdt stares at the pastry for a moment before moving it to his mouth and taking a modest bite. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe something similar to bread or a roll. Certainly not this.

Soft dough and spices fill his mouth, sweet and warm. A crisp outside contrasts the soft interior. He chews slowly to savor it.

He quietly thinks this is what home should feel like.

“Good?” 

Bertholdt swallows and gives a small nod. He thinks his hands might be trembling.

“Yeah.”

Smiling in approval, Eren resumes eating. Bertholdt follows his direction, taking small bites, savoring what he could, and trying to make sense of the tight coil in his heart.

In the silence, Bertholdt tries to imagine a future filled with moments like this. Scenarios where he’d take time off from the MP to meet up with Eren, eat pastries, and catch up. 

Eren would tell him about all his discoveries beyond the wall. Even then, his vocabulary in describing the sights would be lackluster. But the enthusiasm would more than make up for it.

In return, Bertholdt would recount how boring life was inside the inner wall. Eren would get that smug look on his face but keep his snark to a minimum. Though he would not be above in saying, ‘I told you so’.

Eren would chide him to keep up his training. Bertholdt would tell him not to do anything reckless.

He could forget about his mission – avenging his village, Reiner’s dissociation, Annie’s dissatisfaction – if only for a couple of hours.

At the end, Bertholdt would pay for the pastries. He’d keep that promise.

And they do this all over again.

The Bertholdt three years ago would have a stroke if he knew what he turned into. 

“What were your parents like?”

Bertholdt inhales too much of the pastry and spends a good minute coughing to clear his throat.

“What brought this on?” He wheezes.

“It’s just…” Eren begins, biting his lip. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about them. I hear Connie or Jean talk about their moms. Occasionally Mina about her sisters. Hell, even Annie mentioned having a dad at one point. You though? I… I’ve got nothing.”

Bertholdt thinks about Jonas, the closest thing he had to a paternal figure. He thinks about the permanent limp in his step, his thin dark hair, eyes so vacant that they might as well belong to a corpse... 

Suddenly his pastry doesn’t seem appetizing anymore.

“I’m not sure what to tell you…”

“Can you… tell me what you can? Please?”

Bertholdt swallows. What was he supposed to say? 

His upbringing was far from conventional, let alone loving. 

Bertholdt had no fond memories to tell, no birthdays or childhood comfort food.

But as he meets Eren’s pleading eyes, he soon relents.

“I never knew my mother. It was just me and my… dad…” Even now, the word sounded wrong. Didn’t feel right to associate it with a man he rarely connected with despite all those years living with him. “He was quiet. Strict. Didn’t talk much.” _Didn’t talk at all._ “Half the time I felt like I barely even knew him…”

Bertholdt jolts at the unexpected warmth pressed against his side, relaxing when a glance assures him that it was only Eren.

“Yeah… I think, I have some idea what you’re talking about,” he mutters.

Slowly, Bertholdt’s eyes return to the pastry in his hand, now gone cold.

Bertholdt never understood even now, why Franz assigned him to a caretaker who cared so little for him. It was a stark contrast to Berik and Reiner who, while also being placed under the care of people with no blood relation, were always and readily greeted with affection. Who had guardians that were kind enough to occasionally extend that same love towards him.

His grip tightens.

“You know I can count on one hand the number of times he actually spoke to me? Like made an, honest to god, acknowledgement?” Bertholdt’s grin becomes bitter. “My favorite is the last thing he said before I left.”

“… What was that?”

Bertholdt could still remember it. That short command he uttered in his ear the morning before he, Reiner and Berik departed on their mission.

“Don’t come back.”

“That—I’m sorry Bertholdt…”

Why should he be? It’s not like Bertholdt expected anything less.

Bertholdt shakes his head. “It’s fine. We hardly spoke, and okay, the few times we did, he rarely had anything supportive to say. But I wasn’t—it wasn’t the worst, most awful childhood. I had Reiner and Berik. And there was Franz.”

There’s a lapse of silence, before Eren speaks again.

“How was he like?”

The answer comes easily.

“How every parent should be.”

Perhaps the bigger mystery to Bertholdt’s upbringing was why he wasn’t placed under Franz’s care instead. Where everything about Jonas was cold, Franz was warm. Where everything about Jonas was distant, Franz was affectionate. He was anything and everything Jonas was not; a constant reminder of Bertholdt’s worth. That he was destined for great things. And if not that, that at least he was worth something.

Worth missing.

And even though most of the villagers treaded lightly in his presence, given his position as leader, Bertholdt always knew the man had everyone’s best interests at heart.

“Good…” Eren says. “I’m glad you still had people looking out for you.”

“Me too.”

They sit there, in shared silence. It takes Bertholdt a moment to notice how quiet his mind was, a rarity whenever the topic of Jonas arose. Thinking about the man always left him feeling unsettled. Bitter. But his thoughts remain still, not quite at ease but definitely… clear.

Funny how Eren had that effect on him. 

“Eren!”

The warm presence disappears from his side and Bertholdt watches Eren reel towards the voice.

A grin stretches his face.

“Hannes! It’s been too long!”

Pinpointing the figure isn’t too difficult. He meets the friendly eyes of an old man with pale hair and a pleasant smile. It doesn’t take him long to make the connection. This was the man from Eren’s stories. An old friend of his parents who looked out for Eren and the others when they were younger.

When Hannes reaches Eren, the two exchange handshakes.

“No kidding! God, look at how much you’ve grown. Makes me realize how old I’m getting.”

“Finally making peace with the fact that you’re a fossil?”

“Watch it,” Hannes warns, expression one of mock anger. He glances around. “Where are Armin and Mikasa? Last I remembered you three were practically joined at the hips.”

“They’re around. We got approval from the academy to visit the city and celebrate before our graduation,” Eren explains, before nodding a head in his direction. “This is Bertholdt.”

Much feeling like someone meeting their spouses’ parents for the first time (a comparison Bertholdt quickly squashes), he offers a hesitant smile.

“Nice to meet you.”

Hannes scrutinizes him and at that moment, Bertholdt remembers his half-eaten pastry, still clutched in hand. Any attempts to hide it now would surely draw attention towards it.

“You were the one who helped Eren,” Hannes finally says. His grin returns full-blown and he slaps an unexpected hand against Bertholdt’s back, nearly sending him doubling over.

“Thank god you decided to become friends with this brat! I can rest easy knowing Eren has another person looking out for him. And a giant to boot.”

It’s the strangest compliment Bertholdt has ever received and he stares, dumbfounded.

“I—thanks?”

He feels a nudge to his side and meets Eren’s teasing smile.

“Relax. It means he likes you.”

Bertholdt feels his face heat.

“O-oh. Good.”

The approval warms his chest.

“But way to make me sound like some dumbass toddler,” Eren drawls. “Really makes all that work I’ve done these last three years mean something.”

Bertholdt watches Hannes’ mouth twitch into a half smile before he grabs the back of Eren’s head and shoves it forward. Eren squawks in outrage, flailing and slapping at the man’s hand. Despite the harassment, something about Hannes’ eyes becomes sad.

“You keep an eye on him,” he tells Bertholdt, tone still light. “This one has a bad habit of getting into trouble.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Traitor!” Eren laughs before Hannes shoves his head down again.

Bertholdt feels himself gradually relax as he watches the exchange. In the past, he only had Eren’s stories to rely on in forming an impression of the man, and a part of him feels almost relieved to see they hold true.

“So you’re a member of the Garrison?” Bertholdt asks, noting the two roses on the man’s uniform.

Hannes relinquishes Eren, the latter grumbling as he rubbed at his presumably sore head.

“Yeah. Been one for about twenty-five years,” he announces proudly.

“Impressive.”

“I generally am.”

“Hey Mr. Impressive, I meant to ask but aren’t you supposed to be up on the wall? I didn’t think captains got days off,” Eren points out.

The question, Bertholdt thinks, doesn’t seem that noteworthy, until he sees Hannes’ expression become weary.

“We generally don’t. But there are more than enough people on duty at the moment.”

At the words, Eren’s eyes become sharp.

“That’s what you said last time.”

It doesn’t take long for Bertholdt to piece what Eren is referring to.

His eyes find the ground.

Hannes heaves a huge sigh. His hand moves as though to rest on Eren’s shoulder before he seems to thinks better of it, and rubs the back of his neck instead.

“Right… I’ll admit we were less equipped in handling things back then. But three years has given people a lot of time to reflect on our shortcomings. I assure you we’re more than prepared now. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

Eren doesn’t look convinced.

As though sensing the impending argument, Hannes suddenly claps his hands.

“Anyway! I’ve kept you two long enough. And I have some friends to meet up with. Have fun and stay out of trouble. Hopefully I’ll see you both at graduation.”

With one last clap against Eren’s shoulder and a nod towards Bertholdt, Hannes leaves, Eren’s frown following after him.

////////////////////////

Eren’s mood seems to plummet after that.

Bertholdt’s embarrassed to admit, but he doesn’t notice the change, at least not right away.

Contrary to common opinion, Eren did, in fact, have his moments where he preferred the quiet. They only occurred among a select group of people, sure. But Bertholdt rarely saw any reason to panic whenever Eren was silent for more than five minutes.

…

…

Reiner may have had a point. Bertholdt was terrible at reading people.

See, before Bertholdt thought he was the only one shying away from the more boisterous celebrations of today’s event, generally some zealous ceremony to honor those lost and Eren… allowing it. But with Eren and Hannes’ conversation fresh on his mind, Bertholdt started to notice it wasn’t just him. Even before Bertholdt could react, Eren would steer them away from dense crowds, a tight expression pinching his face. And while Bertholdt was grateful about the mutual sentiment, Eren’s silence began to worry him.

“Everything alright?”

Eren snaps out of his trance.

“What? Oh yeah, sure…”

Bertholdt’s brow furrows.

“We can turn in early today? Head back to the bunks they got set up,” Bertholdt smiles. “I’ll teach you some new chess strategies so you don’t get your ass immediately handed by Armin, next time you play?”

“Wha—no, it’s fine,” Eren snaps, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended. Still, Bertholdt’s smile drops and Eren starts to fumble. “Really, I’m—“

He stops mid-excuse before releasing a long sigh.

“Okay, you got me. I guess. Being here is starting to feel, kind of… weird.”

“Weird?” Bertholdt echoes.

“Okay, maybe not ‘weird’,” Eren says, “Just, I don’t know—uncomfortable? Not because of the city itself, but like—all these celebrations and shit. I mean, I thought I‘d be fine with our graduation being the same week as—“ Eren stops, seeming to struggle in finding the right words. “I mean, I should be able to handle this right? It’s been years. But now they’re just—it’s just all starting to get to me…”

Bertholdt remains quiet. He knew that Eren typically preferred it, since it gave him time to gather his thoughts.

“I don’t know… I mean, this event is supposed to be good thing, right? Honoring those lost, remembering what happened that day but…” he hesitates, “I just have this bad feeling…”

Bertholdt’s gut sinks.

“Oh?”

_There’s no way he could possibly know._

“Yeah… I know this is going to sound bizarre, but I… I got this same feeling right before Shinganshina fell,” Eren explains. “Just like now, people were lulled into this same false security and… I can’t help but feel like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop—“

No.

No, no, no. Eren couldn’t get involved in this. Bertholdt had to derail this train of thought while he still could—

“Eren,” Bertholdt says, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. He only continues once Eren’s attention was on him. “The military has prepared relentlessly to make sure something like that never happened again—“

Liar.

“—We have canons, more soldiers stationed. Evacuation procedures—”

Liar. Liar. Liar.

“—you have nothing to worry about—”

_Liar._

“We are safe inside these walls.”

Bertholdt pastes on his most reassuring smile, softening his eyes, and feels vile.

It almost comes as a relief when he sees Eren grit his teeth.

“I know. Shit, I get it already. You don’t have to spew the same speech at me like everyone else… _there’s nothing to be afraid of_ ,” he recites. Mocks.

And of all the emotional responses Bertholdt could have felt at that moment, shame for shutting Eren down was not one he expected.

“I didn’t mean it like—“

“Look, I know how it sounds,” Eren snaps, “But I was right back then, wasn’t I? So what makes now so different? Why am I crazy for worrying about this type of shit?”

Watching Eren suddenly reminds Bertholdt back of their first fight years ago.

Back then, Eren’s reaction confused him. And even after the truce, Bertholdt felt like he only received a picture, half-finished. 

Now Bertholdt recognizes the emotion, for what it was. One that has likely been ingrained since the first attack, and the moment Eren lost his home.

Even though Eren only spoke of the event in increments and Bertholdt never sought to question further, he would be pretty damn stupid not to realize how much it shaped him.

Eren was afraid.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says.

Eren turns away and Bertholdt recognizes the look. Exhaustion. Resignation. How many times has Eren been through this same routine? How many people have dismissed him, ridiculed his worry?

“It’s fine. Just—forget I said anything—“

“Eren. Shut up for a moment.”

Eren’s mouth closes and Bertholdt watches as he tries to hide his apparent suspicion.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. Tries to push all his sincerity into the single word. Because, Eren – _this kid who’s done so much for Bertholdt_ – deserved better than some half-assed assurance, that he only offered to ease his own peace of mind.

_'Peace of mind? Eren wouldn’t feel like this at all if it hadn’t been for you'_ , a voice hisses, one that Bertholdt immediately shoves down to keep his focus.

“I can’t say… I fully understand what happened to you three years ago. I doubt anyone who wasn’t there will. And I’m sorry for trying to sound like I knew better.”

Eren’s expression remains cautious.

Bertholdt tries not to fidget.

“I wish… I knew how to make it better. So you wouldn’t have to feel like this. But it’s not that easy. And me trying to act like there’s some simple solution that could fix all of it would be, um, ‘shitty’, on my part.”

A tiny smile cracks on Eren’s mouth and Bertholdt briefly applauds himself for not entirely fucking this up.

“I will—I will listen, I mean, if you want me to. Or help with anything else you need, really. Just know that—“

‘I’m here for you,’ he almost says.

But he couldn’t promise that that.

Couldn’t lie about that.

Not to Eren.

A hand touches his shoulder.

“Thanks Bert.”

Bertholdt nods stiffly, not trusting himself to speak yet. He smiles, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Why did he do that?

Why did Bertholdt comfort Eren?

It wasn’t as though Eren’s paranoia was unfound. That he skated close to a dangerous truth Bertholdt worked so hard to hide. In fact, it would probably fall more in Bertholdt’s benefit to encourage Eren’s doubt, to dismiss his worries.

But he didn’t.

Bertholdt couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Not if it meant ridiculing him.

Immediately, Bertholdt halts the line of thought. He tries to distract himself by studying their surroundings.

His eyes halt.

 

Bertholdt does a double-take, but there’s no mistaking it.

He grips Eren’s shoulder and guides them both to a nearby stand selling fruit. Eren starts to speak. Probably to question his sudden bizarre behavior but Bertholdt hushes him. He quiets. And it’s only after their faces are hidden that Bertholdt finally speaks.

“Eren,” he addresses, like they’re having a casual conversation. “I’m going to need you to keep you head down.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eren gives him a puzzled look, but eventually nods.

“Behind us are members from the wall cult. One of them is the men who kidnapped you.”

Bertholdt senses the exact moment Eren starts to turn and his hand shoots out, gripping his arm. Eren’s eyes snap forward.

“Fuck,” he hisses, every ounce of hate fueled into that single word.

It isn’t long before the stall seller takes note of their presence, fixing a suspicious stare in their direction. Bertholdt plucks an apple to inspect for blemishes. He’s not sure how convincing he looks, given the quiver in his hand. Fortunately another customer calls for the seller’s attention and his gaze drifts away.

“Maybe they don’t remember our faces?”

“If you thought that was true, you wouldn’t have dragged me over here.”

Yeah, Bertholdt kind of expected that. 

He decides for the direct approach.

“We need to get out of here before they see us.”

“ _What I need to do is break every bone inside their bodies._ ”

Bertholdt flinches at the tone. One he knew all too well, promising vengeance until either Eren or the party in scorn were dead. Inwardly, he berates himself for not guiding Eren away, while he still had the chance. Eren would have never noticed otherwise.

“Well, we can’t exactly start a brawl in the middle of the street either.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Young soldier picks fight with innocent church follower,” Bertholdt pretends to muse. “Who do you think people will look at with more sympathy?”

“But we’re soldiers—“

“—Without titles. Our word doesn’t carry as much weight as you think it does. Especially against a group who has the government in their pocket…”

Eren grits his teeth.

“Fine. What do you propose we do wise-ass?”

“To leave. Inconspicuously.”

“Not. An. Option.”

Bertholdt’s grip on the apple tightens.

“We don’t have any evidence on them. And if there was any, it’s been three years,” he tries to keep his following tone firm but gentle. “No one’s going to open up another investigation based on the speculations of a recent graduate, let alone a teenager.”

“Even if that means letting them get away? Again?”

Bertholdt takes a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Bull fucking shit.”

Yeah. But as deluded as they were, the followers of the wall cult were cunning; had a powerful influence. One Bertholdt knew better than to mess with.

Bertholdt could still remember how relentlessly they tried to find the culprits who robbed them. Searches were made. Rewards offered. They had to lockdown for a few solid weeks, out of fear that a passerby would report their faces.

He and Reiner were lucky to escape to the military when they did. And even luckier that Eren had Hannes to cause enough of a disturbance. Enough to force the wall cult to withdraw.

Eren wanted retribution. Bertholdt couldn’t blame him. But they couldn’t chance an encounter.

Unfortunately it seemed like they wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

“We’ll find Hannes. He might be able to do something.”

To be honest, Bertholdt didn’t have much faith in this solution either. After Eren returned to his friends and the incident reported, the MP leapt first to lead an investigation. Of course, they claimed they found nothing. And considering their close ties with the religious sector, Bertholdt expected nothing less. Consequently the case was quietly dismissed.

“Like what? You said it yourself. Any hard evidence we had on them is gone.”

Bertholdt hesitates.

“I don’t know. I’m sure Hannes will think of something. But for now, we have to be smart about this.”

Eren remains silent for a long time, mouth twisted into a bitter frown. It’s not the ideal response. But Bertholdt could breathe easier knowing that Eren would soon see the logic of Bertholdt’s argument, and give his begrudging compliance.

That is, until Eren’s frown disappears.

“We need to find new evidence.”

…

This was the exact opposite of what Bertholdt wanted.

“Think about it!” Eren whispers. “With the whole anniversary coming up, they must have kidnapped someone else for their weird-ass ceremony. And it we get them out to testify, we could expose the wall cult for the nut jobs they are!”

Bertholdt didn’t even know where to begin on how terrible that plan was. Eren was basing his entire argument that the cult would have someone captive. And if that were true, there was still the issue of finding them, awhile avoiding detection. This wouldn’t be a quick breaking and entering. They would be deliberately placing themselves in danger for a wild goose chase.

“Do you really think—“ he halts mid-word, brain catching on something in Eren’s last sentence. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘ceremony’?”

Eren glances over.

“You don’t—?”

Bertholdt face bares his answer and Eren looks down, knuckles turning white.

“Human sacrifices.”

Bertholdt pales.

“How do you—?”

Eren lips thin.

“No one ever said it outright… and I only got bits and pieces from conversations. But I—I wasn’t the only one trapped in that cell you found me in. There was this… this old man. One night they took him. He never came back. Didn’t take much to piece the big picture after that…”

The information processes slowly in Bertholdt’s brain. He stares at Eren and soon the other’s eyes flicker away.

He knew the people inside the wall were terrible, was told on many occasions by Franz, but he didn’t think…

‘All the more reason to stay out of their radar,’ Bertholdt almost says.

But what instead comes out of his mouth is:

“I think I still remember how Reiner and I got in.”

////////////////////////

Getting inside is easier said than done. The wall cult has long since upped their security these last three years. Most likely a result of their previous stunt earlier back. It takes several circles around the building. But eventually he and Eren manage to jimmy a window loose and enter inside.

It doesn’t quite hit Bertholdt until after they squeezed through the frame and began to make their way towards the kitchen just how stupid this idea was. Sweat clings to the back of his neck, as a rising panic begins to take hold for every step they take further and further inside. Bertholdt can’t remember being this scared last time.

Eren leads the way, careful, but a determined stride in his step. Bertholdt lags behind, eyes drifting behind them, back towards safety. 

It’s not too late. They could still go back. But even though excuses gather on the tip his tongue, like the night where Berik invited Reiner and him out to the old shack, he can’t force a word out.

If Reiner ever found out what he was doing, Bertholdt would never hear the end of it. 

God.

Why was he doing this?

Even if Bertholdt had agreed in the end, Reiner had to fight tooth and nail to get Bertholdt on board with his plan.

Reiner persuaded him by arguing it was a matter of practicality. Survival.

This wasn’t survival.

No, the reason why he was here was something far more idiotic.

It took Bertholdt a long while to recognize the emotion he felt after Eren revealed the circumstances behind his abduction. But once he did, it floored him.

Anger.

Bertholdt for the first time in a long while was genuinely angry.

Angry because something like the wall cult had the audacity to exist.

Angry that even after the tip Eren gave, the most the cult got was a slap on the wrist.

Angry that every time he heard a mere whisper about them, it was how they used their status to exploit those weaker.

But perhaps most of all, Bertholdt was angry that they had almost killed—

All thoughts come to a screeching halt.

He was doing this for Eren.

He, the colossal titan, his villages’ only hope of saving their home, was compromising his entire mission. For a human he had befriended inside the wall.

The last strand holding back the dam breaks.

Bertholdt breaks out into a cold sweat.

Oh god, how could he—how could he be so idiotic?

Bertholdt wasn’t some vigilant. He should have known better, realized from the start that they were fucking in over their heads. What if they found and hurt Eren? What if they discovered he was the colossal titan? This wasn’t part of his mission. This wasn’t part of his mission. _This wasn’t part of his mission. WHAT THE FUCK WAS HE THINKING—_

“Bertholdt?”

He snaps out of his stupor. Eren’s eyes are worried.

“You alright?”

Bertholdt swallows .

“Y—yes… I’m fine…”

He moves to keep walking until Eren catches his sleeve.

“Come on, don’t lie to me,” Eren murmurs. “Before, we couldn’t break in nearly fast enough, but now… what’s going on?”

Bertholdt doesn’t answer. Eren bites his lip.

“I… shit, I know this is terrifying… but if we don’t help…“

Bertholdt’s jaw tightens at the last word.

He forces it to release.

“Just nerves,” Bertholdt says. He lays a hand over Eren’s wrist, the one holding his sleeve. “I’m okay…”

“You sure?”

Eren’s tone is anything but convinced.

“Yeah… you’re right, this, this may be our only window of opportunity. If we don’t do something, someone might die.”

_Because surely saving one life will justify the fact that you’re going to be taking hundreds of thousands in a few days._

Bertholdt gently removes Eren’s hand and continue on, before Eren can utter another word.

“I—I think the kitchen is over here…”

Remarkably, they reach their destination undetected. The layout of the kitchen is just as he remembers it. Bertholdt leads Eren to the same spice cabinet, he and Reiner encountered three years ago.

“This is it?” Eren asks, eyes skeptic.

“You don’t remember?” Bertholdt asks, glancing in his direction. “There was a basement hidden behind this.”

Eren shakes his head.

“Too busy running for our lives, remember?” Bertholdt watches as Eren frowns. He raises an arm and traces his fingers around a section on the back of his head, almost absently. “I think I was out when they first brought me…”

Bertholdt’s own hands curl. For a moment, he forgets about the danger of their situation. Why he shouldn’t be here.

“Come on… it’s going to take both of us to move it. Most of the cult may be gone for the celebration, but we need to stay as quiet as possible.”

Without Reiner, manhandling the cabinet to the side takes longer than it did before. And with the added need for discrepancy, the task is even more difficult.

Both he and Eren let out pained wheezes when they finally manage the shelf aside, allowing them enough room to squeeze through. But when Bertholdt’s hand lifts to reach for the door, he finds nothing but brick wall.

He stares unprocessing.

“I—I swear it was here,” Bertholdt stammers. He pushes his weight against the stone and gives another frantic shove when it remains solid. “They must have moved it.”

“Shit,” Eren groans, swiping a hand down his face. “Shit. Fuck. Okay, we… we just have to keep looking. Do you have any ideas where they might have relocated it?”

Bertholdt’s eyes drop.

“No. We only went straight for the kitchen. We didn’t explore anywhere else…”

“Shit,” Eren hisses again, looking ready to shove the cabinet over. “The anniversary is in two days. If we don’t find them before then—“

“We will,” Bertholdt interrupts, trying to calm him. “We’ll keep looking. A building like this, there’s only so many places to hide. And if we need to, we can come back later.”

Eren’s shoulders are tensed with anger. But at Bertholdt’s words, he forces them to loosen and takes a shuddering breath.

“Okay. Okay, okay, okay,” he whispers, more to himself than Bertholdt. “Let’s, fuck, let’s think for a moment. They… they would put them somewhere underground right? Less chance of escaping or being heard?”

Bertholdt nods. “I think so. And unless they already had another room to hold people, building an entirely new prison from scratch would take more than three years. At least not without attracting any attention.”

Eren nods but doesn’t say anything. Bertholdt knows what they’re both thinking. The ideas were both huge and desperate stretches. The wall cult could dangle a banner over their building, broadcasting about their yearly human sacrifices, and the MP wouldn’t even blink.

“Let’s put the shelf back,” Bertholdt says. “We’ll keep looking.”

Eren offers a numb nod and moves to help the shelf back into place.

////////////////////////

Despite the buildings small size, the hallways are a maze. Bertholdt isn’t certain how anyone can navigate them. Everything looks the same. And the dim lighting does little in distinguishing landmarks inside his mental map.

It’s a tedious loop of searching through rooms and dodging passerby. Time ticks away and night soon falls. Quietly, Bertholdt wonders if the rest of the squad was looking for them. If either Reiner or Annie were worried about where he was.

Well, he could definitely see Reiner worrying, soldier persona or not. Annie would probably be more worried about losing her chances of returning home.

His thoughts drift toward Mikasa and Armin and he suppresses a cringe. They were definitely worried about Eren, no doubt. And given the timing and how it correlated to Eren’s previous disappearance, they were likely even more on edge.

As Bertholdt rummages through a drawer, vainly hoping to stumble upon a map or blueprint of sort, he realizes then that the two had wordlessly entrusted him with Eren’s safety today. 

They trusted him. 

The realization adds to his growing nausea.

What would they think if they knew Bertholdt had brought Eren into a deathtrap?

‘Stupid child, are you so quick to forget about your village?’

Bertholdt grimaces.

Of course… being here also jeopardizes his mission. If something were to happen to him, Reiner and Annie couldn’t fulfill their assignment. He was a key component in exterminating mankind. They couldn't lose him. Not only that but they needed to find the coordinate.

Bertholdt jumps as a hand lands on his shoulder, too absorbed in thought to notice that Eren had finished his searching.

“Find anything?”

Bertholdt looks at the papers littering inside the drawer and shakes his head.

“Just a bunch of old documents…”

Eren sighs, hand dropping from his shoulder to rub at his face.

“We can’t give up… not yet…”

Bertholdt watches him, unnoticed, throat tightening.

Bertholdt wasn’t certain when his mission started becoming an afterthought. But it couldn’t continue. He had to accept already that his friendship with Eren was coming to an end. It didn’t matter what promises they made to keep in touch. Everything that happened between them. All the struggles they worked through, the support they’ve given one another… that would soon be gone.

Bertholdt would hide inside. And Eren would likely die on his first assignment outside the walls.

In less than a week, Bertholdt would never see him again.

In less than a week, Bertholdt was going to lose one of his closest friends.

“Have… you ever thought about joining the military police?”

Eren freezes.

Slowly, his head turns towards Bertholdt, eyes disbelief.

“You can’t be serious.”

Bertholdt eyes drop, face starting to burn.

“You do realize they’re part of the reason why I got abducted in the first place? Why no one besides, Mikasa and Armin looked for me? Why all these deranged, sadistic fucks even still exist?”

Eren shakes his head.

“There’s no good I could do there. I know you have your reasons for joining, _hell if I ever get to know what they are. But I would soon die than join a group so corrupt_.”

Let it go.

_Drop this already._

“You… you could change it. Make it better.”

Eren lets out a bitter laugh.

“Get a fucking grip Bertholdt. The only way I’d fix anything is if I burned the whole regiment to the ground,” Eren shakes his head. “Shit, even I’m not that hopeful. I can’t change them. No one can. And I won’t be some lap dog for a bunch of royal assholes.”

Eren moves to leave. To end this conversation before it reared its head.

Bertholdt rounds the table to catch up with him.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about your friends,” Bertholdt tries again. “Mikasa and Armin would follow you anywhere.”

Eren stops.

Bertholdt watches his hands curl.

“It’s not what I want.”

Bertholdt moves to grasp his shoulder.

“But you would be—”

“Safe?”

The word comes in a low hiss and Bertholdt’s hand halts.

“When will you wake up already?” Eren whispers. “No place in this world is safe, not even behind this wall. The colossal and armor titan are proof of that.”

Bertholdt feels a heavy weight drop on his chest.

It’s hard to make sense of the conflicting emotions raging inside him.

Even harder to ignore the hurt under Eren’s venomous words…

But if this meant Eren would get to live…

“Even so… wouldn’t it be better to protect the life you still had left?”

At the words, Eren rears towards him

“YOU FUCKING CALL THIS LIVING?”

Bertholdt recoils. Immediately he retracts his hand, as Eren swipes his own across the expensive office.

“ _Licking the boots of a bunch of crooked officials? Fighting for their scraps? All while the real soldiers risk their lives to push us closer to traveling beyond the walls one day? To give humanity a fighting chance?_ "

Bertholdt shrinks at the scorn. Eren clenches his jaw and glares at the ground.

“You’re better than this Bertholdt. _Better than them._ Is the reason you have for joining them really worth it?”

Berthold swallows, hands trembling.

This wasn’t the same Eren from three years ago, he thinks. The one who held no hesitation of showing his disgust at Bertholdt’s cowardliness.

This was Eren, one of Bertholdt’s closest friends. Betrayed, at least from his perspective, that Bertholdt chose the safety of the wall over him.

He almost wished he received the disgust.

“I—“

“YOU!”

Eren and Bertholdt whirl in the direction of the doorway to see a man dressed in clergy robes.

“YOU BRATS ARE IN—“

Faster than Bertholdt can blink, Eren flings a nearby vase. It crashes into the man’s face, sending him tumbling over. Screeching, the man’s legs tangle in his robes as he struggles to get up.

“Let’s go! NOW!”

Eren grips Bertholdt’s wrist, before making a beeline pass the man and through the door.

“THIEVES! GUARDS! GUARDS!”

“Oh god, oh god—“ Bertholdt wheezes as they zip from corridor to the next. They seemed to have abandoned discretion at this point, garnering more and more people’s attention, in their haste to find the nearest exit.

“Come on!”

A thought strikes Bertholdt. Did Eren even know where they were going?

A brief observation said not.

Either Eren was running blind or was still trying to find the captives, through telepathy alone, which honestly wasn’t all that different.

Digging his heels into the carpet, Bertholdt drags Eren’s arm to lead the way.

He retraces their steps back to the last window they passed. Small. Just barely big enough for Bertholdt and high along the wall. But at this point, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

It takes a few minutes for them to reach their destination, but Bertholdt can feel their time ticking.

“We can’t leave yet!” Eren says, after realizing Bertholdt’s intentions.

“And we won’t be able to do anything if we get arrested or captured!” Bertholdt snaps. “Move! I’ll boost you!”

Cursing, Eren tucks his foot into Bertholdt’s cupped hands and he easily lifts Eren up. Eren scrambles with the latch but soon gets the window open and crawls through.

The windowsill Eren balances on is tiny, forcing him to clutch the frame as he reaches a hand down to help Bertholdt up.

“Come on!”

Bertholdt shakes his head.

“Just hop down. I’m tall. I can reach.”

Eren looks ready to argue until he catches sight of something behind Bertholdt’s back. Bertholdt can only assume it’s the guards turning the corner around the hallway. Shooting one last reluctant look, Eren turns and leaps out. Through the window Bertholdt hears an alarming crash. He has little time to dwell on it however.

Leaping up Bertholdt’s hands catch the brim of the window frame and he quickly scrambles up.

He doesn’t make it halfway before several hands snatch his clothes and yank him down.

Bertholdt lands hard on his back, head colliding against the tile.

He’s not quite sure what happens next. Can only feel the onslaught of fists and kicks as soon as they begin.

Bertholdt curls into a ball on reflex, trying to protect his abdomen and head. But a blunt object collides against his skull and everything goes black.

////////////////////////

Just like getting knocked out, waking up is equally unpleasant.

Bertholdt sputters awake as water is dumped on his head. He breaks into a coughing fit. The cold liquid seeps through his clothes and soon he’s shaking.

For a moment, he can’t see anything, world still coming into focus.

Gradually three blurry images begin to solidify.

One stands in front of him, a burly man, presumably the one who dumped water on him. He’s shorter than Bertholdt by a couple inches but built, far surpassing his own muscle mass. The last two stand off to the side whispering. One of who, he identifies, as the man he failed to knock out three years ago.

While the other two strangers share looks of suspicion, the last glares at Bertholdt openly. He’s more than certain, the man remembers him.

As though to confirm his suspicions, one of the strangers leans closer and whispers something. The glaring man nods.

Bertholdt drifts, brain still scrambled. He barely registers their conversation instead studying his surroundings.

The room they’re in is dimly lit by several torches that travel along the wall. No windows in sight. The cool air and dirt ground suggest they’re in a basement.

Beyond past the two men, Bertholdt sees another door, barred with many locks. He can only presume those are where the prisoners are being held.

“… not like anyone I’ve seen before…”

Shifting in his seat, Bertholdt internally swears. His wrists are bound tightly behind him.

“… bleeding when they brought him down here… most of his injuries are now gone…”

Bertholdt’s head is pounding.

“… saw steam coming out of his blood…”

That catches his attention. Steam…?

Suddenly his pain becomes the furthest thing from his mind.

There was a reason why he and Reiner had to be so careful about getting injured in front of their classmates. Shifters may have had the benefit of healing themselves from life-threatening injuries. But they had to be careful in controlling just how quickly. 

Excusing minor wounds was easy. Dismissible. Larger wounds were trickier. And while they could slow their healing to mimic a human’s rate, it required concentration.

Alert concentration.

Who knew how long Bertholdt was out. _How much these people have already seen._

The conversation quiets and the glaring man approaches. Before Bertholdt can even get a word out, his hand shoots out to grip Bertholdt’s hair, wrenching the strands up and forcing their eyes to meet. 

Fear fills him.

“What are you?”

Bertholdt’s throat bobs. He does not answer.

The man shakes Bertholdt’s head and Bertholdt hisses against the sting.

“ANSWER ME.”

“I don’t— I don’t—“ he stammers.

The man releases his hair and Bertholdt makes a noise of relief.

Then a fist strikes his face nearly knocking him and the chair over.

Blood fills his mouth at his bitten tongue. Bertholdt’s entire left face is throbbing.

He forces his healing to slow.

“Do you honestly think you can hide it? What you are?”

The words are purposeful. It takes all Bertholdt’s control not to look in the man’s face to give any confirmation towards the man’s suspicions.

They were all a bunch of delusional assholes. No way they knew.

Surely they couldn’t…

Bertholdt flinches as the man moves to strike him again.

A knock echoes throughout the room.

The men exchange looks. One approaches the door, hand resting on the knife on his belt.

“Did you find the other one?”

There’s no reply.

Slowly the man begins to draw out the blade.

A muffled voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Just open the fucking door already.”

The group, minus Bertholdt, released a collective sigh. The man near the door opens it and Bertholdt’s heart sinks into his stomach.

Another man drags Eren’s unconscious form by his legs. Even from his position, Bertholdt can see the bruise forming on Eren’s forehead.

“Found him outside the window they tried to hop out of. Moron must have knocked his head during the fall,” he announces. Once the door closes behind him, he drops Eren’s legs to the ground with a thunk.

Bertholdt stares intently at Eren trying to pick out some movement, and breathes a sigh of relief when he notices is the slow rise and fall of his chest. Still breathing.

But who knows for how long

As the men exchange more words, Bertholdt grits his teeth, taking a moment to evaluate their situation.

If they got lucky, they be placed in one of the cells, where they could take time to recuperate. Maybe wait in the meantime for help…

… And then what?

It’s not like any of their friends knew where they went. No one did. And with the anniversary in two days, they might not have enough time. Especially considering being on the cult’s shit list has likely bumped them up in sacrificial material.

They had no materials to help them escape. No weapons to defend themselves.

Mikasa and Armin trusted him.

Reiner and Annie needed him.

…

…

This… this was all Bertholdt’s fault.

If he just fought harder, he wouldn’t have been captured.

If Bertholdt had just been faster, he could have escaped through the window.

If Bertholdt hadn’t pushed the issue, Eren wouldn’t have gotten angry and attracted attention.

If Bertholdt hadn’t let his emotions get the better of him, he wouldn’t have led Eren back to these monsters in the first place.

He’s always been pathetic, stupid, and useless. It was only appropriate his weaknesses would catch up with him.

Maybe this was Bertholdt’s punishment for everything he’s done.

_(For being a bad friend. For betraying Eren’s faith in him. For forgetting his mission. FOR MURDERING ALL THOSE PEOPLE—)_

Bertholdt was so scared of losing Eren beyond the walls. Was so selfish about keeping Eren’s safe for his own peace of mind, that he ignored what Eren wanted.

And now he was going to lose him here.

He was going to lose him.

And it was all his fault.

He hoped--

A yelp breaks his thoughts.

Bertholdt looks up to see the man who previously brought Eren unconscious on the floor.

Now on his feet, Eren launches like a bullet at another. All air seems to rush out of the second man’s lungs as Eren throws his entire weight against his stomach, knocking them both over.

The last two fall back, in surprise, close to Bertholdt.

“What are you waiting for? GRAB HIM!” One of them—the glaring man – shouts.

With a yell, the other man closes in, but faster than he could blink, Eren swipes a foot under his legs, toppling him over.

The man next to Bertholdt swears. He moves to unsheathe the blade on his belt.

Without thinking, Bertholdt launches his unbound foot at the back of his knees. The man crumples, falling backwards onto Bertholdt, sending them both tumbling over with a crash.

Bertholdt hears the knife clatter somewhere. He can feel chunks of the now broken chair jabbing at his back and legs. It’s the least of his concerns, as he frantically bucks to toss the man off of him.

He’s fucking heavy and Bertholdt wheezes under the bulk but manages to kick him off. He shimmies along the ground, using his body and whatever solid surface to get away.

The man snarls, practically foaming, as he snatches one of Bertholdt’s legs. A successfully aimed kick to the face forces him to let go.

Bertholdt barely registers the swearing, shifting and rolling, like a fish out of water.

Suddenly the stream of obscenities stops.

Bertholdt strains his neck to see his attacker now faced down, motionless.

Eren hovers over him, breaths erratic, his body still poised like he expects the man to get back up.

After assuring that wouldn’t be the case, he steps over the limp form towards Bertholdt, leaning down to loosen the knots.

Bertholdt’s head thumps the ground, air flooding his lungs.

“You pretended to be unconscious under the assumption they would bring you to my location…” Bertholdt mumbles. “That was risky and stupid.”

“No. What’s stupid was you playing hero and getting your own ass captured.”

“I didn’t ask to get knocked out…” Bertholdt shoots back. His heart was still pounding, relief still out of reach. “What if they took you somewhere else? What if—what if they decided to get rid of you?”

“ _Do I really need to fucking remind you who saved who, in the end?_ ”

Bertholdt shuts up.

Eren releases an aggravated sigh.

“What was the point of us training together all those years if it means you still get kidnapped?”

The words are heated. Bitter. But even through his binds, Bertholdt can feel shaking fingers, clumsily working knots loose. Even though Bertholdt was outnumbered, an embarrassed flush takes over his face at how easily he was overpowered. That his immediate impulse was to cower instead of fight back. That he scared Eren.

“I’m sorry…”

Bertholdt feels the ropes fall and he moves to sit up, Eren’s hands guiding him along.

“Fucking putting your life endangered… giving me a damn near heart attack. If this is how I made Mikasa felt, I take back everything I ever said. I’d punch myself too…”

Bertholdt gives an awkward smile.

“You’re not going to punch me, are you?”

“I’m half tempted.”

Bertholdt’s smile dulls and he hears a soft exhale. Nearly jumps when he feels a hand squeezing his own.

The skin is rough but warm.

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

Bertholdt doesn’t know how to reply.

Doesn’t get the chance to.

The force of the blow causes Eren’s head to whip to the side. Bertholdt watches in horror as his body crumples to the floor. Behind him stands the original cult member who first brought Eren.

A nasty cut covers a section of his face. He raises a foot to stomp on Eren’s head.

Bertholdt throws himself forward, mirroring Eren’s earlier attack.

They both hit the floor with Bertholdt landing on top. A hand shoves against his face, nearly breaking his nose from the force of the move, and Bertholdt struggles to pin the man’s wrist. While Bertholdt has an advantage in height over the man, the other clearly has more bulk making it difficult to overpower him.

Bertholdt grunts as his chest and sides are hit, nails dragged across his face breaking skin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spots the knife lost in the earlier struggle.

Following Bertholdt’s line of sight, the man loses all interest in escape and makes a mad scramble to catch the hilt. His body rotates down, and Bertholdt takes advantage of the position to shove the man’s face into the floor. 

He clamors along the man’s back and catches the weapon.

Once his grip tightens around the handle, he brings it to the other’s throat.

The man beneath him goes limp.

They’re both panting, bodies shuddering with each harsh push and pull of breath.

Blood roars inside Bertholdt’s ears, all rational thoughts now gone.

Do it.

You made an oath. 

(You told Hannes you would protect Eren)

You swore to kill them all. 

(Mikasa and Armin trusted you to keep him safe)

None of them are allowed to live.

(They hurt him)

_THINK OF WHAT THEY’VE DONE—_

Bertholdt tries to push the blade down. The scent of copper catches his nose, cloying, familiar…

The stench overwhelms him.

Bile fills his throat.

Bertholdt tries not to gag.

He couldn’t—

He can’t—

_‘Are you a coward?’_

His hand trembles.

The hesitation is all the man needs.

Bertholdt grunts as a sharp elbow jabs into his stomach. His grip on the knife loosens and they’re positions are flipped.

A hand snatches a fistful of his hair before slamming the back of his head down once, twice, until he’s lost in a stupor.

“Should have done it while you still had the chance, shithead.”

The light from the torches catches off the blade raised above.

Bertholdt squeezes his eyes shut.

In his last thoughts, he utters two words.

‘I’m sorry.’

The final blow never comes.

What follows instead is a noise that could only come from a dying animal.

The weight on his stomach disappears. Bertholdt’s eyes shoot open to see Eren latched on the man’s back, one hand catching his wrist, knife now gone.

In Eren’s other hand is a jagged piece of wood from the chair, embedded several inches deep into the man’s shoulder.

The man screams, Bertholdt now forgotten. He swings like a bull trying to fling Eren off, but Eren’s legs lock around his stomach, tight. On his feet, the man stumbles back, struggling at the extra weight.

He throws himself at the nearest wall in a last desperate attempt to dislodge the other. Eren grunts in pain at being sandwiched and then… 

Something overtakes his eyes.

A sharp twist of Eren’s wrist allows him to snap a small part of his brittle weapon off before bringing it down into one of the man’s eyes.

Bertholdt’s blood curdles at the sound the man unleashes, wounded and pained.

The vicious struggle ends with them on the floor, Eren on top

Eren tosses the now bloody scrap of wood aside. Wordlessly, he flips the man over and plants himself on his chest. A fist raises and strikes down on the man’s face. Another follows. Again and again and _again_. The man’s screaming has already ceased.

If this continued, he would soon be dead.

“E—Eren—“ Bertholdt croaks.

A sickening crunch that could only be associated with cartilage being broken pierces the air.

Bertholdt feels his stomach roll, the motion shaking him all the way up to the base of his throat. He claws at the wall to force himself up.

“Eren!”

A wet sound begins to accompany Eren’s assaults. Bertholdt was going to be sick.

“EREN!” He finally screams.

The fists halt.

Eren’s head reels in his direction. Bertholdt can’t quite stop himself from shrinking back from the force of the stare.

Eren’s chest heaves like a rabid animal. Blood coats his hair from where he was struck, staining the strands and collecting them into clumps. It drips down his face, reaching his chin. His pupils are blown wide, engulfing all color.

Bertholdt doesn’t recognize him.

“S—stop…” He whispers. “Just stop— _stop_ —“ He begins to chant the word like a mantra. Can’t say anything else, can’t think anything else. Just Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Eren’s eyes gradually refocus the more Bertholdt repeats the word, blubbering it, until he looks more like himself. But that wasn’t true. There was a monster inside him, a monster that would fucking rip Bertholdt to shreds if it ever found what he was, _what he did—_

“Bert? H—hey, it’s okay… it’s okay…”

Bertholdt hears footsteps approaching, hands cautiously reaching.

_Hands coated in red—_

Bertholdt doesn’t quite articulate his horror, so much as whimpers it, and the hands freeze and retreat.

“Shit—shit, shit, shit—“

He barely registers the hissed whispers too busy channeling all his focus just trying to remember how to _breathe._

“Okay, okay…” Eren mutters to himself. “Bert—hey man, I need—fuck, I need you to listen to me. Please, this is important and I—I know it’s hard right now, but I need you to do this one thing for me…”

Bertholdt doesn’t hear the words, too engrossed in trying to slow his heart rate. But he’s taking too many intakes of air and yet somehow not enough.

“Ssshh, sshhh, easy, easy…” He hears a voice sooth. Against his better judgment, he allows it to lull him into calm. “You’re okay, you’re okay now. Everything’s okay. J—just follow me, okay? In,” Eren sucks in a breath and Bertholdt struggles to mimic it. “Out,” He releases his breath. “In,” He repeats the action again. “Out.”

Bertholdt doesn’t know how long they sit there, Eren coaching him through the motions. But eventually he stops feeling like a fish suffocating on land.

“Hey… you with me?”

It takes him a moment, but Bertholdt nods.

“Okay. Good… that’s good.” Bertholdt watches Eren’s tongue run nervously over dry lips. “We… we need to get you and everyone out of here… I think—it was just those four, but I— never mind, can you move?”

Bertholdt gives another slow nod.

Eren returns the action, absently. His hands move at first to help Bertholdt, but something he sees in Bertholdt's face causes him to reconsider and retract them.

Bertholdt trains his eyes on Eren’s shirt to avoid looking at the body behind him. He’s not dead. Bertholdt logically knows this…

But oh god, _he could still smell_ …

Bertholdt sucks in another breath.

Every muscle aches as Bertholdt eases himself up, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to collapse again. Eren is a nervous ball of energy next to him, both trying not to hover, yet unable to distance himself more than a foot. Thankfully, Bertholdt's legs hold steady. Ignoring the angry pulsing inside his head, he turns towards Eren.

“L-let’s get out of here.”

////////////////////////

Something in Bertholdt’s brain shuts down after that.

After some rummaging around the room, they find the keys to the cells and Bertholdt drags himself to the makeshift prison.

When he opens the door, Bertholdt counts six prisoners.

All unwashed. All starving. Just like how Eren was like when he and Reiner found him.

Many are suspicious shooting wary stares at him and Eren (mostly Eren). But after Bertholdt explains their reasons for being here, most calm and even express the gratitude.

Escaping the second time around proves to be far easier compared to their first attempt. With a semi-clearer head, Bertholdt suggests one of them search for potential exit before leading the rest of their group.

Eren volunteers for reconnaissance, disappearing around the corner before Bertholdt could get two words about how he fucking took two blows to the head in less than five hours. And once out of earshot, a woman, far older than the rest of the prisoners, pulls him aside and asks if someone like Eren could be trusted.

Not trusting his voice, Bertholdt could only manage a stiff nod, an assurance the woman didn’t look like she believed.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Eren returns announcing a way through the back. In less than ten, they’re all out.

Reporting the incident to the Garrison also proves un-climatic.

One look at their disheveled states and several testimonies later is enough for Hannes to launch a personal investigation. 

The liberators, he learned they called themselves several days later. A radical branch of the Wall Cult who, _of course_ , had no affiliation to the major religion itself. Charged with multiple crimes and other shady business over the last five years. None of which went through until now.

With the gathered testimonies and supporting evidence, Bertholdt expected the organization to dispatch within weeks.

Sometime after their injuries were treated, both Eren and Bertholdt are taken aside separately to outline their sides of the story. Details of the final encounter were naturally glossed over.

__

“One of the men sustained severe wounds. Far more than what could be considered self-defense,” the soldier stated across the table to Bertholdt. “Mr. Yeager informed us he was the one responsible. Can you expand further on the circumstances behind this aggressive assault?”

“One of the men grabbed a knife and was about to kill me. Eren managed to intervene at the last possible second.”

At the answer, the soldier leaned forward, hands folded.

“For someone who saw what he did, you seem calm about this.”

“They call it shock. Almost dying has that effect.”

After that, the line of questions dropped.

They’re swarmed by their classmates as they return back to the quarter. Most express concerns, others scolding or some simply making jabs at their idiocy. Both Eren and Bertholdt provide shorten summaries of the event. And while no one buys the idea that their story was that simple, common courtesy (and the glares Reiner and Eren’s friends shoot) prevents them from questioning further.

The crowd soon thins, accompanied by declarations of heading off to bed. Reiner halts after noticing that Bertholdt wasn’t behind him, and he shoots a questioning look, one which Bertholdt waves off with a tired smile. For a moment, it looks like Reiner is about to protest, but he mercifully concedes and follows the others back to the barracks, after one final look over his shoulder.

Soon it’s just him and Eren.

The exhaustion of what happened these last ten hours begins to seep into his bones leaving Bertholdt drained.

He nearly died.

He nearly left Reiner and Annie.

_He nearly failed his entire mission._

And for what? All to go on some rescue mission?

All because of… all for…

…

…

Eren breaks the tense silence by releasing a long sigh.

“Well… it’s going to be a long time before Armin and Mikasa let me out of their sights again…” Eren jokes before picking at the bandages around his hands. At Bertholdt’s lack of response, his smile wavers and he suddenly looks very small. “How—how are you holding up?”

Bertholdt stares at him.

“Do you like me?”

Eren startles at the question and eyes Bertholdt in disbelief.

“Yeah, of course I do—“

“That’s not what I meant,” he cuts, surprised to find his voice strangely steady, “I mean, do you… _like_ me… that way?”

Eren’s mouth closes and he looks away. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

Bertholdt waits.

And waits.

Until finally.

In a hesitant whisper.

“Does it matter?”

And what was he honestly supposed to say to _that?_

They stare at one another, silent, until Bertholdt turns and digs the heel of his palms into his eyes.

Why him, he thinks.

Why did it have to be Eren?

Distant memories enter his head. Some that Bertholdt hasn’t thought about in years.

__

I would sooner die than join a group so corrupt.

It’s funny… how people who think they’re so in control are often easiest to kick down.

I have to exterminate all of them. To make sure they would never hurt anyone again.

Images of bloodied hands flash into his head.

The sight of pupils blown wide.

Seconds trickle by and Bertholdt’s hands drop.

“I can’t… I can’t do this. I can’t return…-- I don’t feel— I’m—I’m sorry, Eren.”

Bertholdt can’t bring himself to look at him.

“Can I ask why?”

A million thoughts race through his head.

Part of Bertholdt, the one that spurred him to follow Eren in the first place, wants to argue that this was for his own good. Because despite all the things he’s done, despite all the suffering Bertholdt has inflicted, even he couldn’t be so heartless to lead Eren on like this. Couldn’t be so selfish, couldn’t be so cruel…

Another part sneered at his pathetic attempt at kindness. One that knew his reasons weren’t as altruistic as he claimed them to be. The part that has kept him and Reiner alive all these years, that kept him paranoid but safe. One which kept leading his eyes back to the bandages binding Eren’s knuckles…

_Because you scare me._

The silence stretches. Bertholdt can feel Eren searching his face for some unsaid explanation. Soon he releases a long exhale.

“You… you don’t have to feel the same way. I get that. But… this doesn’t change anything between us… right?”

If Bertholdt could erase all that happened, he would.

God, he’d give anything…

“No.”

Eren is quiet for another moment.

“Please look at me.”

Despite his better judgment, Bertholdt does.

Gold eyes bore into his, intense and resolute.

“I don’t regret it.”

For a moment, Bertholdt doesn’t follow.

He opens his mouth to question but Eren continues.

“Those… _monsters_ got what was coming to them,” Eren hisses. “If anything, they got off easy. Scumbags like them deserve to be wiped from the earth. Gone from existence. If I had the chance, I would have made sure they’d never touch anyone again.”

Bertholdt wants to throw up.

He stumbles back and for a moment, the sharpness in Eren’s eyes falter, but Bertholdt doesn’t get a good look.

“I’m—I’m tired… I’ll see you back at the dorms.”

With that, he leaves, ignoring the eyes on his back.

Bertholdt never makes it back to the rooms. Instead he stumbles his way to the closest toilet stall, collapsing to his knees. He retches into the bowl, one lone thought floating inside his head.

_When push comes to shove, they will always choose their own._

////////////////////////

The night before the second attack, Bertholdt, Reiner and Annie gather for one last meeting.

It’s more out of formality than anything, given how simple the plan actually was. Bertholdt would launch the first attack to create an opening outside Wall Rose, allowing the outside titans to get through. After Bertholdt gave the signal, Reiner would create a second opening further inside the Trost district.

Stay hidden. Stay alive. Everything else was improvisation.

“… Remember Bertholdt, you’re first priority after you shift is to get rid of the cannons. If the soldiers light any of them, you might run out of time and then it’s all over.” Reiner states. “Annie, you’ll be responsible for keeping the others off our scent, as we move into position. But otherwise don’t do anything to attract suspicion.”

Annie nods at the instructions.

Bertholdt’s stares remains fixed on a nearby crate as it has been for the last ten minutes.

Reiner’s head turns in his direction.

“You got that, Bertholdt?”

Bertholdt nods mechanically.

“Bert.”

Reluctantly, Bertholdt meet the other’s eyes. Reiner looks at him with concern while Annie regards him with cold indifference.

“I need your head in the game. We only have a small window to make this happen. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

Bertholdt winces. He knew this was Reiner’s gentle way of reminding him of his crucial role in getting them all back home. Bertholdt couldn’t afford any distractions especially now. Not when they were depending on him.

“Right, I’m sorry.”

The image of Eren’s expression from several nights ago flashes across his head. Determined and filled with hate, and Bertholdt’s shoulders tense.

“Still dwelling on your boyfriend?”

Bertholdt stills at the jab, eyes meeting Annie’s.

She returns his stare unflinching and he averts his gaze.

“He’s fine,” Reiner states. “Drop it.”

She does. But not before shooting one last final warning look in his direction.

Bertholdt doesn’t sleep well that night.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees a sea of broken faces, many comprising of his comrades.

Some are desperate. Some are empty.

Some are filled with hate.

Eyes a familiar gold.

They claw at him tearing him apart.

Merciless despite his screams.

After the third nightmare, Bertholdt resigns himself to staring at the ceiling until morning.

Bertholdt and Reiner's team are led to an outpost nearby the walls borders.

Two hours in after their instructor runs through their assignments and retires to her office, Bertholdt heads for the wall.

He moves into a position that would place him closest to the canons. The sun warms his back as he stares at the stretches of miles between him and the top, and yet Bertholdt has never felt more cold.

He tries to muster the same resentment he felt three years back. The satisfaction of the fear he would soon instill.

He does not find it.

Bertholdt thinks of Reiner and Annie.

He thinks of home.

Taking a deep breath, Bertholdt lifts his hand…

And bites.

////////////////////////

Doubt is dangerous.

To hesitate at the last crucial second promised certain death.

And yet Bertholdt wonders if his circumstances could have been different if he had just… reconsidered.

If somehow… he could be forgiven.

Maybe he was already beyond that.

People often assume consequences that arise from poor decisions are immediate. That the punishment for their error was instantaneous.

What people don’t realize was that some effects could be slow. Less noticeable.

Bertholdt wonders if the length of a punishment could correlate to the severity of a mistake. That he was currently in hell.

Perhaps he was lulled into a similar sort of security. Like Eren said the people of the wall fell into, after the first attack on humanity.

Tricked into the illusion that he could forget all his sins… that he could ever escape what he’s done.

All before all the things he loved is taken away.

One. By. One.

////////////////////////

It all goes to shit.

Bertholdt’s lungs burn as he races alongside other soldiers to evacuate civilians.

He tries not to think about the irony of his actions as he ushers a family into the street, adding to the growing stream of people escaping their houses.

Doesn’t have to work particularly hard given all the surrounding chaos.

A while back Bertholdt was taught the best executed plans required everyone’s full and willing obligation. And it frustrates him to learn this lesson still holds true.

Bertholdt’s part of the mission was delivered without a hitch. After destroying the canons and creating an opening in Wall Maria, he raced back to the outpost where Reiner was located, ready to deliver news of his success so that Reiner could launch the second phase of the attack.

The transformation had left him worn and weak, but still he pushed on.

He expected his friend alert and ready to go.

What he instead got was a frantic Reiner scolding him about his sudden disappearance, swiftly shoving his sheathed blades into his arms and disappearing before Bertholdt could get a word out.

For a moment, Bertholdt stared dumbly as Reiner gathered his own equipment and pulled them on, before the realization sunk that Reiner had slipped back into his soldier persona.

_Because of course it would happen now._

Bertholdt tried to pull Reiner aside but was interrupted by their squad leader striding into the room of scrambling teens and ordering them to get a move on.

Reiner moves out and Bertholdt was forced to follow, cursing.

Bertholdt plucks a crying child and shoves them into his mother’s arms before commanding them to follow the crowd. The woman opens her mouth presumably in outrage at the treatment but the frantic look in his eyes causes her mouth to shut and hastily leave.

At least he was fortunate enough to relay the change of plans to Annie during the brief gathering of the 104th cadets. It only took one look at Bertholdt’s face (and Reiner’s, lacking awareness) to get the message across. The only reaction he observed was the slight clench in her jaw before she moved to follow after her group accepting, like Bertholdt, that nothing could be done.

As Bertholdt ushers an elderly man to the streets, he breathes a small sigh of relief when he sees Reiner exiting one of the adjacent houses before moving on to the next. Given Reiner’s current condition, Bertholdt would have to be even more diligent in watching his back. His soldier persona was just as bad as Eren when it came to having a death wish.

Eren…

Once Annie had disappeared from sight, Bertholdt tried to find the familiar mop of brown hair among the cadets. His eyes frantically scanned every corner of the room before he was forced to admit that Eren had already left. Bertholdt soon follow suite, worry chewing inside his gut.

After their last conversation, Bertholdt had avoided Eren completely. He hadn’t seen or heard a peep from him these last few days. And Eren… Eren certainly made no effort to seek him out.

Bertholdt forces the thoughts away as he directs a couple to the streets.

It didn’t matter. Distancing himself was the best option and something he should have done a long time ago. That night was a wake up that their loyalties lied in different places. And even though their friendship ended in the worst possible manner, there was nothing Bertholdt could do about it at this point. What’s done was done.

This was for the better.

It’s nearly evening and there seems to be no end in sight.

More titans have filtered through the hole Bertholdt created, numbers spreading across the district, forcing soldiers to escape to the rooftops. 

Most of the civilians located towards the innermost wall have been evacuated, and the titans are slow moving in their pace in reaching them, likely preoccupied with the people residing near the opening.

The accomplishment feels hollow.

It doesn’t escape Bertholdt’s notice that their resources were directed towards evacuating civilians living further inside the walls. A clear prioritization. Whoever was in charge saw rescuing those lived closest to the walls a lost cause.

He tries to remind himself that doesn’t matter, considering the purpose of his attack was to eliminate as many humans inside the wall.

Bertholdt wonders if this is what Reiner’s dissociation felt like. He sees the hole in the wall and the titans filtering through. He sees smoke in the distance, the destroyed buildings, and fails to comprehend that he was responsible for it. That he, the soldier who diligently worked to become the 104th third top cadet, the soldier who was now currently rushing to rescue as many people as possible, was the one who caused all this fear and pain in the first place.

There is no satisfaction in the destruction. No thoughts that this was out of necessity. That this was all justified for some higher purpose.

Bertholdt just feels… numb.

His actions have since stopped making sense and at this point, Bertholdt had no time to try and rationalize them.

Bertholdt’s muscles are aching as he lands on the roof of a nearby building. He takes a moment to survey the remaining soldiers and is unsettled to see most comprise those from his class. Either their senior officers have already retreated for the inner walls or were dead.

Nearby, Reiner fidgets with his gear and Bertholdt takes a moment to evaluate the state of his own equipment. He had tried to conserve the gas in his canister for as long as possible but even he was forced to admit he was running on fumes at this point.

“This doesn’t look good…”

Bertholdt turns to Reiner who’s surveying their classmates.

“Connie told me there are titans swarming the HQ,” Reiner explains. “We were supposed to receive a supply from the rest of our team almost three hours ago, but they’re all trapped inside.”

Nearby Marco speaks.

“We’re done for no matter how you look at it… we’re going to remain trapped in town and get picked off like animals,” Marco stares blankly at the distant buildings. “Not that I wasn’t prepared to die, but this… just what exactly are we dying for?”

Bertholdt says nothing. Doesn’t want to further dwell on the implications of the words… what this meant for Marco and the rest of the cadets.

Not a minute later, Annie soon approaches their side.

“Reiner,” Annie addresses. “Do we move out now?”

Bertholdt picks up on the underlying message behind the question. A probe to determine which side of Reiner was present now.

“Not yet,” Reiner whispers. “Wait for them to gather.”

Bertholdt takes a moment to more closely inspect the crowd. He recognizes most consist of those who made into the top ten. Armin. Ymir.

Still no Eren.

Bertholdt swallows.

It’s fine, he tells himself.

It’s not like this was Eren’s first encounter with death. In fact, Bertholdt could list numerous occasions. The fall during their mid-exams in the mountains. The deadly pneumonia that occurred after their shipment, carrying the medicine, got delayed. Taking two blows to the heads only several nights ago. Each and every time, Eren bounce back, unstoppable and resilient, leaving Bertholdt wondering if it was through god’s favor that allowed him to escape death’s grasp each time.

Bertholdt had absolutely nothing to worry about.

Eren was _fine._

In fact, Mikasa’s absence was probably an indication that she was looking out for him. That he would return soon.

That is, until she arrives on the roof, less than five minutes later, alone.

Like Bertholdt, her head also swivels, scanning the crowd. Catching sight of Armin, she immediately approaches him.

“Armin, are you alright?”

For the past fifteen minutes, Armin had sat frozen, curled into a tight ball, unresponsive.

At the question however, his form begins to shake.

“Where’s Eren?”

Even from Bertholdt’s standpoint, he could see tears forming.

Bertholdt’s stomach drops like a bag of bricks.

When he finally speaks, Armin’s voice comes out choked.

“Eren—“

No.

_No._

Silence consumes the air. All conversations had ceased. Everyone’s eyes are now trained on Armin.

“The 34th trainee squad… Thomas Wagner, Nac Teaz, Milius Zermusky, Mina Caroline and—Eren Yeager…” His voice cracks on the last name. “These five brave soldiers… fell in the line of duty…”

At the name, Bertholdt feels like he just swallowed broken glass; a countless collection of jagged pieces, tearing his esophagus open, making him bleed from the inside out.

“Most of the 34th team has been eradicated… and that same fate awaits us if we confront the titans head on…”

Bertholdt thinks of Eren’s grin, always somehow bright and warm despite his usual surly attitude.

He thinks about Eren’s gross habit of chewing on pencils, his sleeves, or the strings tying his shirt close, gnawing on them like a dog on a bone, but never quite finding the heart to scold him because Bertholdt knew the action helped ground him.

He thinks about Eren stupidly launching ahead after their camp was raided during one of their missions, how it was one of the few times Bertholdt yelled at him because not only had he worried Bertholdt sick, but Mikasa and Armin as well. How Bertholdt ranted that Eren should be more considerate about their feelings and have a little more self-preservation because Eren had a lot of people who gave a shit about him; who wanted to protect him just as much as he did them.

He thinks about waking from a nightmare, senses distorted, choking back the stench of carnage he logically knew wasn’t there. How he stumbled past the beds and outside into the howling night, willing the frigid winter air to shock his senses back into order (or perhaps hoping that if he traveled far enough, the storm would eventually engulf him whole), only to be startled out of his wits when a hand – a warm, gentle hand – found his wrist, and guided them back inside.

Bertholdt wants to laugh.

He wants to cry.

He wants to scream until his lungs explode.

He doesn’t know why he wants to do any of these things when the only coherent thought that pops into his brain is, ‘it’s better this way’.

_It’s better this way._

Because this sort of end would come to all their comrades.

Because he rather their deaths come through battle, unseen, fighting for what they believed in.

Not watching them scream in fear as they scramble away, begging for mercy, crying for anyone to save them.

“Bertholdt…” he hears Reiner call softly.

Bertholdt blinks.

It only occurs to him then that his vision is blurred, swallowing now painful.

He tries to take a breath.

It shakes his entire chest and he clutches it.

He wheezes and realizes it’s a sob.

Armin is speaking again.

“I’m so sorry Mikasa—Ere—Eren sacrificed himself for me… if I hadn’t—if I was just stronger—“

_It’s better this way._

“I’m so sorry—“

Because he saw how Eren looked at him when he was the colossal titan.

“Please—oh god, please—“

Because he knew firsthand what Eren was capable of.

“I’m so sorry—forgive me—“

Because he knew exactly what Eren thought of _monsters._

…

…

So why did it hurt?


End file.
